The Evil Beautiful
by Blood Diamond13
Summary: She gave them her information. They betrayed her trust. She possesed a sharp mind. They took her sanity. She sought peace. They stole her freedom. She fought back. They want her life.
1. DisclaimerBlurb

**_DISCLAIMER:_** ** _I do not own nor will I pretend to own the plots, characters, etc. either The Addams Family or The White Rabbit Chronicles (which are what a lot of this story's idea(s) came from). I do however, own this story. I wrote it and it is copywrite/copyright@hollyrose.childs._** ** _BLURB:_**

 ** _I will not be able to update all of the time, as this story is novel-like. And I will be posting shorter stories between posting chapters for this one. Thank you._**

Gomez Addams is blissfully unhappy. He has an enchanting wife, beautiful children and a mother-in-law in the next city over.

But as fate would have it, whenever something goes right, trouble is just around the corner. That trouble' s name is Iridis Inc., headed by Dr. Dementia Nightshade.

One night, Morticia is taken, and Gomez has to take action against the cooperation that took her. But will he get to her in time? Or the war against kidnapping innocents and human experimentation already killed?


	2. A Note from Gomez

A Note from Gomez:

This is the story of the worst days of my life. It starts off perfect, Tish in my arms, children growing like toadstools. And I wish to God that is how it stayed. But I had to face the facts. There are _evil, evil_ people in the world that put Satan to shame.

Dr. Nightshade and her entire organization, Iridis Inc., are some of those evil people. They took my beloved, and for that I had to try and take their lives.

Once upon a time, my parents warned me of their evil, they told me never to trust doctors, but to trust my gut. Doctors are dangerous, and your gut is a part of you.

We used witchcraft, and rarely ever went to the doctor. I always wondered why, and now I know. I wish I didn't, but I do. My dear parents, Rosemary and Alistair Addams, didn't want me to learn to trust myself. They were trying to protect me. From Iridis Inc., from human experimentation.

But I didn't know that, none of us did. My parents died before they could explain why. Now, it's up to me. It's up to me to fight to get back Morticia, and our freedom.

Evil is real, boys and girls, living and dead, and undecided. Evil rests in the hearts of everyone, but it lives and rages inside of these so-called "humans" who break down their own kind to build themselves up. Well, it only makes sense to fight fire with fire.

They made a declaration of war when they took my carita, and now, I am fighting. If it is a war Dr. Nightshade wants, it is a war she will indeed have. And there will be blood, but so help me if it will be Morticia's that gets spilled.


	3. Does My Gut Deceive Me?

Chapter 1: Does My Gut Deceive Me?

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

My Tish. My darling black angel. Together since our eighteenth year, and yet as I watch my dark goddess step out of our master bedroom's private bathroom, steam emanating from the large room and circling around her like fog around a witch in the forest, my heart begins to beat faster, and I am reminded of my reason to live.

I remember the evening outside like it was yesterday. It's storming, the rain falling hard against our clear, shatter-proof glass window. Our black drapes do not cover the window like they do on most evenings, because of the storm. Not only do we both adore the rain so, but we make good use of the times when those old, Victorian gothic drapes can actually be pulled back for a change. Every morning when I wake Tish, she holds her hands up to shield herself from the sun, if it's infernal rays are shining through our window. Besides the mere fact that she very much dislikes the sun, it is also extremely unkind to my beloved's skin. Too much of it pains her immensely, and I take all measures to protect her from it. Most days, I take one or both of my sharp-pointed rapiers and draw the curtains for her. She loves it when I do that.

Yes, tonight we are celebrating giving our drapes a break from their usual duties. But we also are starving, that is, I am. My hunger for her soft as rose petals lips and porcelain skin, gnaws at my insides like some ravenous beast. That is why, I shall never understand why most men stop putting in as much effort after they've won the woman's heart. Morticia, my cara mia, my love for her only grows with every passing second. I would never give up on her or our love, even if my life depended on it. I would have no life without Morticia. She made me the man I am today.

Tonight, I watch my darling stare at the rain. She seems to be in some sort of a trance, or rather in her own little dark world. When Morticia goes to this world, it is only her eyes that ever move. This is not rare, I am really the only one besides our own daughter, Wednesday, who could tell the difference. Morticia uses her eyes to show her emotions, as she is an enchanting, illusive creature, and her mystery is always intensified by her stoic nature.

However, when we are alone, she is not as stoic as usual. She lets her guard down around me, feels safe in my arms. I wish she knew how incredibly special that makes me feel, knowing that this incredible, strong woman felt comfortable enough, _safe_ enough in my care to be vulnerable. It is one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

Oh, how enchanting my darling Morticia is. She is five foot nine, and has the measurements of 37"-23"-37". She's lithe, yet curvy in all the right places. Her skin is so pale, it's porcelain. Josh, one of Morticia's closest and only friends, will often go makeup shopping with her. You won't believe the trouble she apparently has with foundation. Every skin tone, my ass. No, now she's resorted to making her own, with a touch of witchcraft of course. Anyway, she is just as beautiful with makeup as she is without. She has upturned eyes, dark brown, a shade or two away from black. Her lashes are longer than the Mississippi river. And she has long, silky hair, black as midnight. Her lips, when not painted that beautiful blood red shade, are pale pink, and soft as rose petals. Her nails are long, and always painted crimson, whereas her toenails are perfectly painted black. She ages with grace and elegance. She looks at least six years younger than she actually is, which is twenty-nine. I swear, she doesn't look a day over twenty-three.

I gaze at her, adoringly. That's the only way I can ever look at her, with adoration. Yes, I constantly look at her with hunger, lust, admiration, love, devotion, the list goes on forever. But there is always some amount of adoration in the way I look at this woman, just to let her know at all moments, how very important to me she truly is.

I am clothed in my boxer briefs, black pajama bottoms and nothing else, feeling no need for my usual red velvet robe. I want to feel Morticia's ice cold skin against my chest rather than through another restricting article of clothing. The truth is, I feel safest like this, I feel as safe as she does when I'm holding her... in my arms, nothing bad can happen to her, and as long as she's alright, so am I.

I hear her humming the song from our first honeymoon, a glorious cruise on a ship on its last leg. We were the soul survivors, she adored it, as did I. The song was, _Goodbye Sweet Sanity_ by Three Black Birds. However, it sounds much more beautiful, sung in her melodic voice. There is nothing she can't do.

Inadvertently, I begin to sing along with her, but it doesn't bring her out of her trance. I wanted to watch her walk out of the shower, just to torture myself. But I also regret not joining her. Then again, I doubt she would have let me tonight. I have a feeling she wants to torture me much more than I want to torture myself.

I soundlessly walk up behind Tish, whom is wrapped in a black towel with her initials embroidered on it, in blood red. I had all the black towels embroidered with her initials as a surprise for her nineteenth birthday. But her real present was Cleopatra. It's her African Strangler I found whilst on our safari.

I wrap my arms around her small waist, gently embracing her from behind and kissing her pale neck. It is one of her favorite things I do for her on a daily. I believe I may have startled her, as I now feel her heart race a little bit, although I don't see her jump. Morticia never jumps.

 _"Gomez."_ She relaxes a bit, leaning into me. "Mon cher, you startled me."

"I apologize, my darling. I was admiring your beauty from our bed and I couldn't wait any longer to get you into it." As I speak, I slowly begin to unwrap the towel from her lithe yet curvy body.

Unfortunately, nothing can get past my Morticia. "Ah ah. Not yet." She says and places my hands firmly on her waist.

"Haven't I waited long enough?" I ask. I sound like a dog, begging for a treat from its master. I don't care, she almost always dominates me in the bedroom and out of it. So, if I have to sound like a horny little puppy to feel that, I will with pleasure. I am her devoted slave, and believe me when I tell you, that I would not have it any other way.

Morticia maneuvers her hand back and caresses my cheek. "My, my, we are impatient, aren't we?" She teases.

I give a low, hungry growl. Thunder could be heard from the raging storm outside. "Yes, we are." I reply, this time nipping her neck and rocking her back and forth as we stand.

Morticia flashes one of her illusive, rare smiles, reserved mainly for me. But she does not reply right away, as if she needs time to come up with a response. She always does that when she wants to draw out my suffering. "Gomez, I mean it. I must-"

Before she can come up with any more excuses -sometimes I wonder if she really IS trying to kill me- I bite the nape of her neck, causing a slight amount of blood to drip out. I lick it off and pull her closer.

She moans in pleasure, allowing me to finally have a taste of her. Pain typically means pleasure for Morticia -and myself, but I digress- and this is no different. Most women prefer a gentle kiss on the neck, the softer the better. While Morticia is equally as attracted to whatever I do, as I am to her, she feels more passion in the harder kisses, which often lead to nipping, which lead to biting, which lead to blood, and I am determined to make her stay in my arms.

I again, begin to unwrap the towel from her body, but this time she doesn't stop me. Smiling, I complete the first part of my quest to conquer mi encantadora. I chuck the towel across the room, lift her up and lie her on our marital bed.

Our bed doesn't exactly have a name or type, but it is quite large. However, we don't really need that much space, as our nightly ritual always ends with her falling asleep in my arms, her head resting on my chest or shoulder. But the bed is nevertheless, massive. It is three feet off the ground and as large as a California King, but not quite as hard. She looks even more so like the goddess she is when draped over those purple-grey, gothic, silk and satin bedsheets.

God, she's beautiful. The rain falls harder, lighting approaching the hill our estate is set on. However, no matter how much my reason for breathing loves lightening, she keeps her black eyes fixated on me.

 _"Corazón..."_ My accent tends to grow even thicker when impassioned.

 _"Mon amour... je t'aime."_ She arches her brow.

That's it. With those words, I'm hard. I mean, let's face it, everything the woman does turns me on but that French. That beautiful French that escapes her blood red lips makes me submit to her more than I already do. I am completely powerless. I kneel before her. "Cara mia... anything you want, it's yours. What would you like to do tonight?"

"Gomez..." Morticia traces my lips with her long, perfectly painted fingernails. "Tonight, all I need is you against me. I want you, darling. That's all."

I love it when she does that. I give her all the power in the world over me, and she uses it to simply say all she wants _is_ me. And it's wonderful. "Oh, Tish... _that request_ I will carry out with pleasure."

Morticia's eyes narrow. "Mmm... who really said you had a choice?" She asks, saucily.

I growl. "I like to think I do."

"Oh, darling. You couldn't be more wrong." Tish wraps her arms around me, and I crawl onto the bed. She then wraps her legs around my waist, and moans at the feeling of my weight against her own.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

How I love him. My darling Gomez. Without him, I'd be nothing, a pool of liquid on the ground. Quite ironic, actually, considering every time he looks at me, that is what I reduce to.

He is so handsome. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest. He is six foot two, and has olive skin. He has dark brown eyes, like I do. He is strong, and looks it. He has a hell of a lot of muscle, and he has this perfect, washboard kind of stomach that fits well with how he looks. One could tell he gets in activity. I love how we haven't stopped looking our best for each other, even after marriage. That was one of the first clues that we weren't like other couples. He even sword fights during business meetings. He isn't a body builder, he's better. He's even, and captivating. His hair is jet black, and slicked back until we mess it up at night. He has a mustache, and it's more like two, sexy black lines with hair on them. All in all, he is magnificent, and just looking at him ignites a fire inside me.

"Gomez..." I'm tugging at his bottoms. I need them off.

One thing my husband knows about me, has known since the first time we made love, is that I like to be in control. Some days, I'll let him, but those days are rare. Today just might be one of those days. I love how weak I can make him, I love the torture before the final release. I love that I found someone who I can carry out all my darkest desires with, and he worships me for it... amongst other things.

"Of course, carita." Not taking his captivatingly handsome dark eyes off of me, he obliges and removes his pants and boxer briefs.

He pulls me into an intense, passionate kiss, our tongues entangled with each other, like we will be by the end of the night. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I revel in the heat of his body. What a contrast it is with mine. My skin has always been cold, and the feeling of warmth against him is something I will never stop craving.

He bites the nape of my neck, and I moan, biting back. He begins to leave a trail of kisses down my body. I know what he's doing. He's intentionally taking his time, conquering nearly every inch of my body before getting to the place I desire most. Damn you, Gomez Addams. Must you get me back for making you suffer? What feels like ages pass. I decide I'll take that as a yes. Finally, he moves his mouth down to my center, and I arch my back in response.

He lets his tongue roll over me, taking his sweet time. I moan in pleasure.

Gomez can bring me to the edge just as fast as I can, him. Except I can control it, when I want to. But tonight, I'm letting it out. I'm relinquishing control. A rare occurrence, but one I welcome. With this, I orgasm, and crying out his name made the both of us grateful our bedroom is on its own floor.

He then crawls on top of me, not nearly through with me yet. He kisses me up my arm, whispering the loving Spanish and Italian endearments I have come to know so well. He massages my breasts and then French kisses me, and we tangle our fingers in each other's hair. Soon, he enters me, and we climax.

But this is only act one. After a couple more hours of teasing, love-making and more, I am completely exhausted. I believe he notices this, because he responds in the adoring Gomez Addams way that I have come to cherish. Yes, I love, cherish and adore the man who worships me. We would walk through our own personal hells just to satisfy each other. That is what I'll never understand about the couples I meet. I love my children, dearly, but my husband is the reason for my life as well as part of the reason for theirs. We occupy each other's hearts like nobody else could. Our love for each other only grew when our seven and five-year-old children were born, and we still showed the same amount of affection for each other, if not more. I will never understand how people can blame each other after a tragedy or one of the children goes haywire, etc., instead of handling it together. No matter how hard I try, that is one thing I will never understand.

Gomez, although tired as well, sits up situates me onto his lap, and I lean into him, breathing in his sent, a mix of fine cigars, champagne and his cologne. He wraps his strong arms around my waist, and the feeling makes me feel safe. I only ever feel truly safe in his arms. I know, what irony, I only feel safest at my most vulnerable. But I know that this man would take a bullet to the head before letting anybody get away with hurting me, as I would for him.

"Tired, cara mia?" He asks me, pulling the blanket over us. He cracks his knuckles and begins massaging my neck and shoulders.

I have to smile, which isn't something I do for... anyone really, accept him and sometimes my children. It isn't that I am not unhappy, quite the contrary. However, my eyes are my defining feature. Without them, one can't really tell if I am ecstatic or I have killed them three times over in my head. But my body ached with the kind of pain I enjoy. However, I enjoy his touch more. I always love when he rubs my shoulders after a long, rough, beautiful night. It's hard, and aggressive but also loving, and tender. I like hard and aggressive, I like to know that he's there, and he isn't going anywhere. _Ever._ I inadvertently groan. "Qui, mon cher." I reply.

He kisses my neck.

I let my head roll and put a hand on his. "Don't stop, please." I'm able to make out those words.

Gomez smiles. "Why would I? Tish, I couldn't keep my hands off of you if we were in the middle of a world war."

"Good, then this should be easy." I reply. I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh. About six minutes pass. That's one of the things I adore about Gomez and I. We can't keep our hands off of each other, we could talk to each other and never tune out, but we don't always have to. We can be near each other, little to know words being said, and still feel just as connected. "Thank you, darling." I say.

"My pleasure, querida." Gomez wraps his hands back around me and I curl up, pulling up the blanket. There's been quite the dramatic decrease in temperature.

I trace the French nicknames I have for him on his chest with my nails, until my hand falls flat against him. "Goodnight, my dearest." I let my eyes shut and take a deep breath.

He kisses me, then kisses my head and smiles at me. "Goodnight, my black goddess of moonlight."

I love the impromptu nicknames he bestows upon me. "That one's new..." I give a silent yawn. "I love it."

"I love _you_." Gomez replies.

I feel his hand gently rub my back until I fall asleep. The last thing I heard was Gomez singing me our song. It never sounds lovelier than when he sings it to me.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I watch her fall into a slumber. Nothing is ever more fulfilling than knowing I've satisfied her, than knowing that I have the sleeping beauty in my arms' trust and approval, and her love. It's all I ask for, all I need to continue living.

I rubbed her back until she was calm and drifting off, hoping it would sooth her. And I sang her to sleep. God, early eighteen-year-old Gomez never thought he would be in this bed, eleven years later, worshipping the love of his life, feeling loved, with no fear of ever being abandoned.

When I was sixteen, my brother, Fester, ran off. He ran off because of some ridiculous fight over twins I didn't love, that I seduced out of foolish pride. I admit, I was wrong. I was weak. But he was weaker. He should have talked to me, but instead he fled, leaving me to bear the burden of loneliness, and parents who never fully regained their trust for me. No, sixteen-year-old me didn't think it possible, that just two years later, that aching loneliness could be replaced with love and adoration... could be replaced with Morticia.

No longer were sex, voids to fill, and loneliness my top priorities. My heart, mind, body and soul were consumed with all things Morticia. Even the sound of her name, _Morticia_... it drove me wild with desire.

I sigh, reminiscing. She is my everything, I'd die before I let anyone get away with harming her. But lately, unbeknownced to my beloved, I have been having strange gut feelings. Gut feelings that I was once told by my father (a wise man, killed with my mother by an angry mob, three years ago) to trust. But I hope that his advice was wrong, because these feelings are accompanied by nightmares, and those nightmares make me feel afraid... for my dark bride I swore to protect. And I will, if hell and heaven forbid these silly dreams are more than what they seem to be... or don't seem to be.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I awake while mon amour is still sleeping. It isn't typical, but I don't want to start my day without him, so I silently admire his handsome features, and I watch the rise and fall of his chest. I rest my head against him, and listen to the sound of his heart. One may think I am lying when I say this, but truly, my heart beats in time and in tune with his when I am around him.

Actually, my own doctor noticed it. We knew before he did, but he was shocked. We were both in the office, and I was getting my annual physical. Gomez made a comment about my heart and his beating at the same time, and my doctor scoffed. He said that that rarely _actually_ happened. Gomez took my hand, and said, "With us, it does." The doctor listened to my heart, and for fun, listened to Gomez's. He was speechless. He was proven wrong, he heard two hearts, perfectly aligned, beating in time with each other.

I let my eyes close. The loud, rhythmic beating of my darling's heart is one surefire way to sooth me to sleep, no matter if mere seconds have passed since I've awakened. I can't really describe it, one would have to get in my position, listen closely and hear it for themselves. Not to sound jealous or possessive, but if anyone other than my children or doctor(s) tries that, there will be blood and it won't be mine. Just a little P.S.A., nothing more.

Gomez is the same way about me, and sometimes I can work him up about it. Not too much, but just enough. I know a part of him enjoys it when I do that because, let's face it, Gomez is the only man my heart, soul and body belong to, and I'm the only woman his belong to. We belong to each other, it isn't just one way, and I treasure that.

After a few moments, Gomez awakens. He cocks his head and looks at me. "Listening to my heart again, aye, carita?" He asks.

I kiss him. "It's a sound I'll never stop longing to hear." I replied.

"Oh, Tish..." Gomez sits up and wraps his arms around me, and I wrap mine around his neck.

I lean my head against him, now I'm sitting on his lap, getting comfortable.

"Unhappy, my darling?" He asks me.

"Oh, yes." I reply. "Yes, completely."

Never has there been a morning where waking up to Gomez didn't succeed in making me unhappy. Not once.

"How did you sleep?" Gomez asks.

"Like the dead." I respond. "A few dreams here and there."

Something changes on Gomez's face. I don't know what, but he looks worried. "What were they about?" He inquires.

"Last night." I reply, with a light, airy sigh. "Why?"

"Nothing, darling, no reason." He hastily replies.

I arch my brow, a signature move of mine. "Are you sure, you seem worried."

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

She puts a cold hand on my cheek. "You look flushed."

I can't tell her about the dreams, not yet. It isn't that I enjoy keeping anything from her, in fact, I never do. One of the most important things our relationship is based on is honesty. But these dreams... they're about her. And not the dreams about her I mind sharing.

In one, she is running down a hall in what looks like some sort of... asylum-laboratory. She is dressed in some hospital gown, and she looks absolutely terrified. That alone, makes my heart ache. I don't know where the hell I'm supposed to be, and that is the most frightening thing of all. I want to kick myself for not being with her. She keeps looking over her shoulder, as if outrunning someone, or something.

She stops at a dead end, and begins to have a panic attack. She's yelling words I can't make out, because when she talks it sounds like I am underwater. She is screaming, and blood stains the gown she is wearing... her blood. It sounds odd, and maybe it is, but I know what her blood looks like, I've seen it enough times to know.

She bangs against the wall, and tries to look for a hallway or an exit route. Finally, she finds one, the wall is a secret door. But before she has time to act, two large men in lab coats come and drag her away, screaming.

In another, she is in the same hospital gown, and her hair is up in a messy bun, with one strand hanging down. She has no makeup, but is no less beautiful. I am in this dream, and I am standing over her. She is bleeding from her chest, and isn't moving. I am holding her, crying, and I feel the most gut-wrenching pain, so terrible that one would need therapy after I described it. The hospital is in ruins, and there are bodies all around me, but I can't make out the faces of the people. I let out a scream, and I wake up.

Now it can be understood why there is no need to worry her with these dreams. I have to think quickly. So, like any brave, level-headed man, I change the subject. "So, our anniversary is coming up." I say, quickly.

Morticia chuckles. "Yes, darling it is." She sighs and falls back into my arms.

I've succeeded in changing the subject, I see.

She continues. "Eleven years. It feels like a day, mon cher."

"Well, time flies when your madly in love." I reply and kiss her hand. "And I have a wonderful present in store."

Morticia smiles with her eyes. "Oh, darling, the only thing I want is you."

"Tish, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't get you anything to celebrate eleven blissfully unhappy years together?" I ask.

"You wouldn't be the kind of husband you are." She kisses me, and I grab her, passionate and determined to savor the taste of her.

She tastes of black bleeding roses, red wine and elegance. That's how I would describe it. I can't ever get enough. She runs her fingers through my hair, and I can hear my name on her lips, and feel her name escaping from my own.

"Mmm... mon cher." She speaks, between breaths and the kisses I'm showering her with.

She glances over to the clock on the wall. "Darling..." She is reluctant to break the moment, as am I, but she continues. "It's eleven o' clock. I do believe we should get out of bed-"

Then, there is a knock at the door. I presume it is our faithful butler of seven years, Lurch. Before Lurch, Thing did the cleaning. But he needed help, and a friend, so we hired Lurch. Not only that, but he helped care for now seven-year-old Wednesday and five-year-old Pugsley. They're off at school.

"Mr. and Mrs. Addams?" Lurch calls from the other side of the door, in his low, zombie-like voice.

"Yes, Lurch?" I call to him.

"May I come in?" He asks.

"Yes, Lurch." Morticia responds. She lies in my arms, covered by the sheets, so Lurch won't see anything we'd all be uncomfortable with him seeing.

Lurch walks into the room with a tray of hot tea and lizard tail cookies. On the tray is a white envelope tied with a pink ribbon.

Morticia looks up at our seven foot one butler. "Thank you, Lurch. You _are_ a dear."

Lurch smiles. "Your welcome, Mrs. Addams. Thank you."

What I've always loved is the friendship between Lurch and Morticia. He cares about her, and she helps him with dinner and has at times, offered relationship advice. I trust Lurch, and any good friend who cares about my cara mia, is a friend of mine. At this point, he is practically part of the family.

"Letter for you." Lurch says.

Morticia gracefully takes the letter off of the tray. "Who's it from, Lurch?" She asks.

Lurch shakes his head and groans.

"I see." Morticia unties the ribbon and opens the envelope.

"You may go, Lurch." I say.

Lurch nods, groans and leaves.

Morticia and I silently read together.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Addams,_

 _This is Nurse Karinda Daughtry of Sherman Elementary. I am writing to you in regards to Mrs. Addams. You see, it's school policy to have the medical records of both parents. We have Mr. Addams' medical records, but we were unable to retrieve Mrs. Addams' medical records. Please deliver them to my office within three days' time, and we appreciate your cooperation._

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

My medical records? I'm confused. Why would Wednesday and Pugsley's school need my medical records? And how in the hell did they have Gomez's?

"Gomez, darling, why do you think they need my medical records?" I ask and hold his hand.

Gomez shakes his head, obviously as confused as I am. "I don't know, Tish. What I _really_ don't understand is how they have mine."

"Perhaps yours were just easier to trace?" I ask.

Gomez nods, as if trying to convince himself what I said was palpable. "Perhaps."

"Well, you heard the nurse. If they need my medical records, I'll just have to give them to the school." I say and get out of bed. I walk into the closet and put on my bra and panties, then search for today's outfit.

Our room is massive. It has dark purple walls and a marble floor, the colour of mahogany wood. The ceiling is black. We have a large window where we watch the rain, and another two, one on either side of the room. They have dark brown blinds. These two windows also act as entry to the balcony. Gomez likes to play golf off of that balcony, and that nice Judge Womack likes to come wave at us whenever he does. We have Gomez's dresser near the one window, next to the closet. My black vanity and stool is beside the door. Our massive bed, that isn't too hard, nor too soft. It's perfect for what we get up to. I can't begin to say how many times we've broken the headboard in the past. Now, we have this lovely black bedframe, the picture of dangerous gothic elegance. It's also incredibly sturdy. The man who ran the store said it was unbreakable, and we're hoping he meant it. We have a black door with a crystal handle that leads to our private bathroom. We have a few interesting pictures we got from Máma, and my plant, Hernus -Cleopatra procreated with a Venus Flytrap- sits on the black nightstand at our bedside. A tall lamp we purchased off of gypsies stands next to the picture painted of Gomez and I.

Our closet is quite large, that's one of the things I love about this bedroom. The closet is about the size of our private bathroom, which can fit a jacuzzi in it and a tub, as well as a shower, sink and toilet. The closet is "divided", so to speak. My clothes and shoes are on the right, and Gomez's are on the left. Then, of course, most of the back wall of our closet is a mirror. There is also a black couch in the middle of it.

Gomez practically jumps out of bed. He walks over to his dresser, takes out his burgundy boxer briefs, and puts them on. "Tish, I don't know."

I don't believe it is at all serious, I assume it is just some odd school policy. However, I should have known that Gomez was going to be reluctant. After all, he is extremely protective. "Darling, it's nothing, really." I scan the dresses hanging from the black hangers in the closet, unsure of what to choose. "The school isn't allowed to lie."

Gomez walks into the closet and picks out a pair of black pants, a burgundy dress shirt and a black formal suit-vest. He dresses as he talks. "Yes, and that's _another_ problem with that school."

I can't help but laugh. "Darling, I know it isn't exactly a dream school, but that's the way it is. Besides, Pugsley is making friends. He's already taught a few kids how to blow up playground equipment."

Gomez sighs. "Yes, but what about Wednesday?"

"Give her time." I say. "She's like I was in school, and look how I turned out."

Gomez comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "In that case, we don't have anything to worry about." He says and begins sucking on my neck, and rocking slowly.

"Darling..." I moan.

He groans against me, and I can tell this is going to leave a hickey. I can't wait. Gomez and I have no problems with marks, bruises and/or associating pain with pleasure. However, in that regard, we are also a tad possessive. Nobody else is allowed to cause me or him pain, or else they will have to suffer the consequences. I whip him and he straps me to a wheel, but we do it because it brings us closer together as a couple. So, if anybody else did that, we would probably have to kill them (the part about killing them was a joke... kind of).

"Tish, I don't think you should give that school your medical records. I don't trust it." Gomez says.

I sigh. "Mon cher, I know how protective you can be."

"Yes. And I-"

 _"However,"_ I interject. "I don't want any if's, and's or but's about it. I'm giving them my records. It could have something to do with the health of our children."

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

"Morticia, _please_." I beg her. I don't trust those schools, and I've never liked that nurse. If anything ever happened to her, _especially_ if I could do something to prevent it... I couldn't live with myself.

"Gomez, I said I don't want to hear it. I'm giving them my records, just as soon as I can get my hands on them. Alright?" She asks.

I shake my head. "No. It isn't alright. I just think we should think about this."

"Mon amour, what would Nurse Daughtry want with my medical records, hmm?" She asks.

"I don't know." I confess.

"Well, then, there you go." Morticia replies and slips out of my grip, grabbing a dress off the hanger and shoes to match. She then grabs a pair of black tights and walks over to the mirror to dress.

I take a cigar -out of one of my many stashes lying about the house- to smoke.

"Morticia..." I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling, just... uneasy. "Please, think about it."

"Gomez, my mind is made up." God, she's stubborn.

But so am I. "And so is mine. I just don't like the way this was presented, and I don't like how they want all of your records. If it has to do with the health of our children, don't you think they would want your recent records, not _all_ of them?"

"Darling, really, don't you think this is a trivial thing to quibble about?" She asks.

"No, I think that this is perfectly reasonable. You know how I feel about this."

Morticia gives me a sympathetic look. "Darling, I love you. You know that I wouldn't trade your protection for the world. But you are very, very protective and sometimes that can cloud your rationale."

Alright, fine. I _will_ give her that. But my protection over her is brought in by my heart and my gut, and those two things are never wrong. "Morticia, you know I am only trying to look out for you."

She finishes dressing and heads over to the couch, where she begins to put on her shoes. They are her three-inch-high heels.

She is wearing a long, gothic black dress that sweeps the floor. It is low cut in a V-neck, and long sleeved. The dresses she wears always have these basic qualities. But the design(s) change(s), from fishnet in the sleeves to a strategically placed black gem at the side. This particular dress has intricate gothic designs all over it.

"Gomez, I know you are. But, you must remember, it is ultimately my decision. And if my medical records are needed, for the sake of our children, I'm going to provide them."

I understand that my darling means well, but so do I. "Tish, please think about this."

Morticia shakes her head. "Gomez, I appreciate the concern, but I've made up my mind."

"So have I. And I refuse to sit idly by and let you hand over your medical records like it's nothing."

Morticia, whenever angered or slightly annoyed, gives this signature look. Her eyes are the only thing that appear remotely angry, the rest of her face just remains stoic. "Gomez, I'm doing it."

"Morticia, I don't like this."

"I'm sorry, but I have made up my mind." She says and gets up.

"Tish, I don't believe you're thinking clearly." I tell her.

She seems a bit offended by this. "Excuse me?" She asks.

"You know what I said. You aren't thinking clearly."

" _I'm_ not thinking clearly?" She finishes putting on her shoes, and stands. "Gomez, I'm in a perfectly rational state if mind. You're over analyzing the entire situation. All that happened was Nurse Daughtry sent us a letter asking for my medical records. Now, I do admit I find it a tad strange, but it _is_ school policy."

 _"Morticia..."_ I swear to God, this woman is more stubborn than I am. And I was smacked up by _both_ my parents for being so stubborn.

 _"Gomez..."_

"Morticia, I mean it." I say.

"As do I. I no longer wish to argue over this."

I sigh. "Neither do I."

"So, it's settled then." She nods and walks out of the closet.

She sits down at her vanity and does her makeup.

"Good, so you aren't doing it." I reiterate, hoping to trick her into not going through with this.

I walk out of the closet.

"No, Gomez. I _am_ doing it." She replies.

"Tish, I will not drop this until we have reached a solid conclusion."

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I am beyond irritated by this point. But it's Gomez, and I can't lose my temper. One of us has to be rational, here. "We just did." I say. "I'm doing it, and that's final."

"No, you're not."

Alright, no more fun and games. I _am_ doing it, and the last time I checked it wasn't his choice. "Yes, Gomez, I am. And I don't appreciate you thinking that if you say I can't do something, I can't."

"You _know_ that isn't what I meant." Whenever angered or impassioned, his accent grows thicker.

"I think that is _exactly_ what you meant. I will give them those records, and we are done talking about this."

Gomez isn't having any of it. Damn it, _why_ is he so stubborn? "Morticia, you may be done talking about this, but I'm not. You don't understand the seriousness of just handing over medical records!"

I am now finished with my makeup.

 _"Excuse me?"_ Alright, _now,_ the conversation is over. I stand. "You don't understand what _we are done talking about this_ , means. You don't understand that when I say I am doing something, I'm doing it. And you don't understand when I say _that's final._ Now, I am going downstairs for breakfast. At the present, I don't think you're ready to be mature about this."

I have to control myself, _now._ Even if, he is giving me that wounded look. I flashed one, and he didn't control himself.

"Tish-"

 _"Done."_ I walk out then.

Fine, if he wants to be that way. I don't understand why he's acting so strange. And for the past two weeks, he has been avoiding me asking about his dreams. I don't know why, but know if he keeps being so secretive, I'm going to have to have a talk with him, and it will not be pretty.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Well, now I feel awful. Especially after that look she flashed. God, all I wanted to do was grab her, kiss her and apologize. I also want to tell her the truth. I want to tell her ever since I had that nightmare about her in a hospital gown, and her lying there, _dead_... I just can't bare those nightmares coming true. But, then I risk causing a larger issue.

Morticia is a woman who gets what she wants, and she knows I am a slave for her. So how come when it comes to her safety, she can't see that I am just trying to protect her? Her safety is all I care about. They mentioned _nothing_ about our children in that whole letter.

But, the last thing I want to do is go the whole day with Morticia being mad at me. And I couldn't live without her touch, or being in her general vicinity for as long as she's willing to stay angry. _That_ , I know, will be a while because self-control is Morticia's middle name.

I'm going to have to tell her eventually, but first I have to apologize. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, I don't know. Maybe she's right. Maybe I need to relax. Or maybe I'm letting love cloud my judgement. Wrong again, love should _be_ my judgement. After all, love is hers. And my love is mine, and that's why I said what I said.

But she will do it anyway, regardless of what I want her to do. Or was she bluffing? I don't know, Morticia's quite the complicated woman.

I walk downstairs, determined to find her and talk. I don't know if Lurch has started on breakfast or lunch, but now. And I have to talk to my querida.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I am sitting against the counter, hurt. I don't like to fight with him, we rarely ever do. But we're both passionate, in our own way. So, when we do have a spat, it isn't a pleasure trip.

I close my eyes and massage my temples, in an effort to ward off the headache I now have.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes. "Hello, Thing." I greet him, but I sound like a deflated balloon.

He holds the thumb up sign.

I shake my head.

He then gives the thumb down sign.

I nod.

He bends, wordlessly asking "What's wrong?"

"Gomez and I had an argument, that's all." I say.

Thing shakes, meaning he is confused. He knows we really never argue.

"He doesn't want me to give my medical records to Wednesday and Pugsley's school."

Thing signs.

" _You_ don't want me to either?" I ask.

Things shakes.

"Well, I have to. It's school policy."

Thing gives a thumb up and pats me on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Thing." I say and he scurries off.

I fight the urge to go apologize, mainly because I don't believe I have anything to apologize for. God, I'm as stubborn as he is. So, I stay put and wait for Lurch to start preparing lunch.

But of course, Lurch doesn't come.

I turn around and look in the cupboards for some painkillers. Typically, I'd be alright with the headache. But the last thing I wanna do is physically remember what brought it on.

I take the bottle of painkillers off of the shelf, in one of my _trances_ , as Gomez calls them.

"Tish?" I know that voice, that _nickname_ anywhere.

I don't say a word, or look up, because I can be terrible when I'm in an argument. I am the face of elegance and propriety, but when he argues with me, he's lucky if you even get to _see_ my face. But the worst part of it all, I feel incredibly guilty about it.

"Darling?" I can feel the space closing in around us, Gomez is walking closer.

Still, I say nothing and dry swallow a pain pill.

"Morticia, please, speak to me."

 _Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't look at him._

I can't help it. I just can't. That voice. I'm defenseless against that voice that I swear, could arouse the dead. And he sounds so wounded, and I can feel him looking at me like he's going to die if I don't talk to him in _one... two..._

I look up. "Yes?" I speak, finally. And I feel awful about my icy resolve.

He steps closer to me. Now, he is in front of me. "Morticia, I feel awful. I don't want to do this. I know what I said was wrong."

"It was." I respond.

He nods. "I know. Morticia, you know I worship you, and I would die for you, I would kill for you. My darling, I'm sorry. I know I can be overprotective."

"You can."

He laughs.

Inadvertently, so do I. "Stop." I am able to say.

"Stop what?" He asks.

"I'm still angry with you, and you're not supposed to make it stop by being incredibly charming." I reply.

"Oh really?" He asks, smiling, obviously proud of himself.

"Yes. Really." I say.

He steps closer.

 _"Gomez."_ I warn.

He keeps coming closer.

 _"Gomez."_

He then grabs me by my waist.

 _"Gomez."_

He then pulls me in and plants a kiss... right on my weak spot.

I have this spot right between my neck and shoulder. It's some sort of a nerve, and it's the one part that really-

I laugh out loud. He's the only one who can make me laugh, or show any real signs of emotion. _"Gomez!"_

Tickles. A lot. And nobody knows except him.

"What?" He asks, as if he doesn't know what he's doing.

I struggle, but his grip on me is tight. "Gomez, I mean it."

"Mmm hmm." He says, not taking his mouth off my weak spot.

I playfully hit his arm, but it does nothing. "You're terrible."

He finally lets go of my neck and kisses me on my lips. "So are you." He says.

I wrap my arms around his neck.

"I love you, Morticia Addams."

I smile. "I know."

Gomez kisses me again, which inevitably turns into a full on make-out session, and he groped my ass. I moaned in his mouth. He moved his hands and snuck it into my dress, massaging my breast, groaning. I run my fingers over his slicked back hair.

What we don't see is Lurch, trying desperately to maneuver around us to grab the seasoning.

He clears his throat, uncomfortably.

Wrapped up in each other, we scoot over, still not breaking our romantic session.

After about ten minutes, Gomez embraces me from behind and kisses my neck, and thankfully, not my weak spot.

"I'm sorry, darling." I finally say.

He moves his hands back and forth against my sides, but maintains his grip on me. "All is forgiven, cara mia. I'm the one who was foolish." He pauses. "Promise me something?" Gomez asks.

"Anything, mon cher." I am not lying. He could ask me for the world right now and yes, I would find a way to give it to him.

"You'll punish me later?" He asks, a seductive edge to his voice.

"Oh, Gomez, do you even have to ask?"

"No, I hope not. But I'm just making sure." He says.

"I promise, mon diable, come heaven or highwater, you'll come out with more than a few bruises. If we're lucky, I can make you bleed."

"I'd love that."

"So would I." I reply.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I love her, I'll love her for all eternity. These nightmares are just dreams, I tell myself. They have nothing do with Nurse Daughtry, the school or medical records.

Lurch hands me the phone. "Phone call, Mr. Addams." Lurch says.

I nod and take the phone. "Thank you, Lurch."

Lurch groans and walks away.

Still holding my beautiful creature of the night, I answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Addams?" The voice of a woman, presumably in her thrities, responds.

"Yes, this is Mr. Addams."

"Good. I'm Nurse Karinda Daughtry, from Sherman Elementary. I was the one who wanted your wife's medical records."

"Yes, we were just discussing that. I was asking-" I then look at Morticia, and I'm immediately taken. I know what she wants, so I'll give it to her. I gulp. "I was ASKING, when you want these records?"

"It's alright, Mr. Addams. I understand."

I'm thoroughly confused. "Understand what?"

"A little birdie told me that you were questioning why we need these records, and where we found yours. Is that so?"

Alright, NOW, I'm skeptical. "What bird? Who is this bird?"

"Oh, it's just a figure of speech, Mr. Addams. We try to retrieve the medical records of all parents, but we had trouble finding your wife's."

I rub my hand over Morticia's shoulder. "Well, she didn't stick to one doctor."

The voice sounds irritated. "Huh?"

I put my hand over the phone. "Tish? It's Nurse Daughtry. She wants information about your medical records. I told her you had a lot of doctors, do you want to talk to her?"

Morticia nods. "Yes, darling, thank you." She takes the phone. "Hello, this is Mrs. Addams speaking."

Mrs. Addams... I love when I hear that. I don't care how long it's been, it reminds me if that night in the graveyard... she said yes. And when we got married, I got to hear people call us Mr. and Mrs. Addams. It was magical, absolutely magical. There are no words to describe how ecstatic I was to hear those words. My wife, Mrs. Morticia Addams.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

"Mrs. Addams? This is Nurse Karina Daughtry from Sherman Elementary. Your husband tells me you didn't stick to just one doctor. What does he mean?"

I assume they need it to track the records. "Well, I went to about thirty doctors in my sophomore year of high school. They didn't know why I was so pale, why I couldn't be out in the hot sun, etc. and so they turned that year into a year of testing."

Gomez holds me tighter. He knows that was one of the worst years of my life. Not the pain, but the sickness, the nausea that came after was absolutely awful. And, that was the year my father died. It still hurts.

"I see. So what did they find?"

"I have a Vitamin D deficiency and a rare form of photosensitivity." I explain.

"Uh huh. Alright, change in plans. Will you please make a list of all the doctors you've seen, and the one you're currently seeing. We'll take it from there."

"Of course, when would you like the-" I realize now that she has hung up. I set the phone on the table.

"What did she say?" Gomez asks.

I sigh. "Gomez, I'm going to need some help."

"Anything, darling, with what?"

"We need to list all the doctors I've seen since I was born."

"Why?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I don't know. But, we have to do what we have to do."

He nods. "Alright, darling. I promise I will help you."

"Thank you, mon cher-"

"AFTER the children get home from school." He finishes and picks me up, bridal style.

"What about breakfast?" I ask.

"I have something else I want to eat this morning." He eyes, me hungrily.

"Well, then I guess I'll have to be a meal with an empty stomach."

"Oh, don't worry, Tish." He begins to carry me up the flights of stairs, and kisses my hand. "You'll be full soon enough."

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Morticia and I work late into the night, trying to remember the names of all thirty-three doctors she's seen, two psychiatrists included. We even called Máma in Ivorybrooke, to see if she had any information. She did.

We just have one more doctor to go, then we have to put the timeline together. It's exhausting.

"Did I mention Dr. Rand?" She asks.

I take a puff of my cigar, and nod. "Yes, she took drew your blood from December 4th, 1976 until December 22nd, that same year."

"Dr. Fisher?" She tries again.

"Dr. Fisher took out your tonsils and adenoids when you were seven. January 27th, 1969." I reply.

"Doctor..." Her breathing got slower. "Doctor... Doctor Henry..." She fell asleep.

I empathize with her. My poor darling. I rub her back, but she doesn't stir, so I gently lift her and wrap my arm around her.

She jolts awake. "Henry Stein!" She shouts.

"Hmm?" I ask.

She seemingly gets her bearings now. "Dr. Stein, Dr. Henry Stein. He has been my physician since I was a child."

I nod. "Alright, darling, thank you. Tish, do you remember what age you were when you started seeing Dr. Stein?" I write his name, a dash and then soon, I will write a date.

"I... I..." I watch her fight to stay awake, and the clock strikes 2:30 am. "Fifteen!" She recalls. "Summer of 77. June 30th, 1977."

I squeeze her hand. "Alright, darling. I promise we'll go up to bed very soon." I feel terrible, she isn't used to staying up this late, with the lights on, sitting in a chair, working. "Tish, I'll figure this out. Why don't you let me take you up to bed?"

She shakes her head. "I appreciate it, Gomez. But... But it isn't fair for you to have to... do this all by yourself." She puts her hand on top of mine. "We do this together, or not at all."

"Not at all?" I ask, jokingly.

She shakes her head.

It takes another half hour, but finally, we finish. "Alright, Morticia, we're finished."

Tish all but passes out.

Carefully, I pick her up and she weakly wraps her arms around my neck.

"Are we done?" She asks, silently yawning.

"We are, my dearest." I say.

By the time we are upstairs, we are grateful that we changed into our nightclothes ahead of time.

I lay her on the bed and hand her a hand mirror and a couple of makeup wipes.

I get into bed, and Morticia sits up, leaning against me. She finishes taking off her makeup and sets the makeup wipes and mirror on the nightstand.

Then, I lay down, put my arm around my only, and she begins to fall asleep on my chest.

"Is there anything I can do for you, darling?" I ask.

Morticia curled up against me. "Just sing to me." She says and kisses me before resting her head on me, once again.

I nod. "My pleasure, corazón." I then begin to sing our song, "Goodbye Sweet Sanity" and she soon drifts off.

I follow, but as I fall deeper into what I pray will be a deep and restful sleep, I have another dream. And it terrifies me.


	4. What Does Her Blood Look Like?

Chapter 2: What Does Her Blood Look Like?

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I awake to Gomez, gazing at me, adoringly, from the foot of the bed. I always look forward to waking up and seeing his devilishly handsome face. I stretch, slightly and almost soundlessly. "Good morning, mon cher."

He leans over the bed, and kisses my hand. "Good morning, darling."

"Rain?" I inquire.

Gomez shakes his head. "I'm afraid not, Tish. No, today, that dreadful sun is back."

I sigh. I strongly dislike that blazing ball of fire. I understand it's needed, and in fact I don't _hate_ it. However, it is quite a nuisance, and it isn't even good-looking. First of all, it's yellow. Second, it just radiates heat, _too much_ heat. Third, my photosensitivity acts up on overly sunny days... days like today. "Oh, no." It's all I can really say at the moment. I then look over and check if the blinds have been closed. "I see you've already closed the blinds for me, darling."

Gomez smiles at me, and nods. "Yes, I didn't want its blasted rays affecting you, especially if I could do something about it."

I caress his cheek, and he kisses my palm.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks.

"Indeed, mon amour." I reply. "Did you?"

He hesitates, and it worries me. Lately, whenever I ask if he slept well or what he dreamt about, he quickly changes the subject, or says, simply, _nothing_ or _fine_. It used to be, _last night_ , or _my dreams were filled with images of only you, my dearest. It appears you bewitch me in reality just as you do in my subconscious._ I always loved that line.

But lately, he doesn't talk to me about the events of previous nights, and it's startling. I don't understand why he isn't talking to me, he _knows_ I value honesty much more than the average person.

Alright, we have gone from saying the word, _nothing_ , to quite literally saying nothing. Instead, he is just looking at me, wearing this anxious expression.

"Gomez, I asked you if you slept well." Today, I am determined to get answers. I want to know why he isn't talking to me.

He snaps out of whatever trance he was in. "Oh, darling, did I mention today is the day we have to go to Wednesday's and Pugsley's school and drop off those papers?"

Nope. No way is he getting off that easy. "No, you didn't. Why did you avoid my question?"

Gomez holds my hands and kisses them. "Darling, I'm sorry. What was your question?" He asks and sits on the bed, closer to me.

Alright, so _that's_ how we're going to play it. "I asked you if you slept well."

Gomez swallows, hard. "Fine, my dearest. I slept fine." He replies.

It's hot, and I kick off the covers, revealing my long, black nightgown. "Any dreams?" I ask, and prop my legs on his lap. He holds them up.

"No, darling. Not last night." He responds, clearly no longer wishing to discuss it.

"Gomez... every time I ask you if you slept well, or had any dreams, you avoid my questions. Why?"

He is obviously uncomfortable with the interrogation. "I know. I'm sorry, darling, I just..."

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I can't tell her. I can't bear to even describe the horrors I saw in that dream. Curse my subconscious for even having the power to come up with that.

Morticia was in a cage, with a few other, unfamiliar people. She was in her nightgown, cloak and heels. Her makeup is still in fact, but her lip is bleeding and she looks like she hasn't slept, or as though she had been roughed up. Her hair is tangled.

And the clicking of heels could be heard from down the hall. _Click. Clack. Click. Clack._ A petite girl was cowering behind her, and Morticia appeared to be protecting her. Soon, the cage door opened, to reveal the face of some bald lady, wearing black frame glasses and a lab coat. Words I couldn't make out were exchanged. She proceeded to pull Morticia out of the cage, and she shouts, _I'm sorry!_ to the petite girl, before being dragged away.

This fades into a sight so gruesome, I can feel bile escaping from my throat just thinking about it. Morticia is strapped down in a chair, and shocked with thousands of volts of electricity, but she remains strong. They beat her, and force her to watch weird, trippy television on a loop, and she is unable to blink.

But in other dreams that night, she had her throat cut, she was shot at, I was crying or she was dying or both. And holy hell, _why_ was she almost always in a fucking hospital gown? What do these dreams even _mean_?

"Gomez, you can talk to me, you know. I need you to talk to me." She says.

I hate to cause her pain, but I can't worry her. These dreams will subside, I just have to figure out why my subconscious is out of whack. "Morticia, I... just had a rough night is all. Tossing and turning, you know."

She raises her eyebrow in suspicion. "Gomez, I didn't feel you move that much last night. I would have woken up."

Caught in a lie. Nothing does get past my Tish. "Well, darling, I must have dreamt it then."

She moves her legs off of my lap and sits up, and isn't fully looking me in the eyes. "Gomez, I don't like this. Please, if there's something bothering you, I want to help."

I know. I break inside knowing that there is even a slight chance I've hurt her. "Tish, please, I am not trying to hurt you." I say and reach out to touch her, but she gracefully crosses her arms, so I put my hand on her knee.

"Well, then why won't you talk to me?" She is asking me.

"Because, it isn't anything I feel important enough to share." As soon as they leave my mouth, I know they are the wrong words.

"Oh, so now you're only going to share things with me if they're of the upmost importance?"

I don't like this; these dreams are causing us problems. I've been arguing with her more than usual. I rarely ever get into genuine arguments with her. My hours are spent making sure that woman knows how much I adore her. "Darling, of course not, you know that isn't what I meant."

She nods and uncrosses her arms. "Yes, I know. But I'm worried about you, I am only trying to help you."

I move closer to her and hold her hands. "How about I take you on a vacation, hmm?" I ask.

Oh, how I'd adore that. I have the power to love her out of every mood.

"Third honeymoon?" She asks. We've already had a second. We went to the Bermuda Triangle.

I kiss her fingers, each one individually. "Of course." I smile, and continue up her arm. "And a fourth, and a fifth... and a sixth... and a seventh." I kiss her up to her neck, and wrap my arms around her, allowing her to melt into me.

"Do you know that I lose all sense of propriety when you touch me?" She asks.

I nod, biting my lip. A move I inadvertently pull around her. She's the only person that's ever intimidated me. And I am the only person who has never betrayed her, and I never will. "As do I, my darling. Do you remember the charity auction?"

She uses her black eyes and smiles at me. "And Pugsley's 'welcome to pre-school' picnic?"

I chuckle, then and kiss her pale lips. "Cousin Henry's birthday party?"

She moves closer to meet, as if that were possible, and looks me in the eyes. "Margaret and Tully's anniversary party?"

I remember that day well. Little were we aware that Margaret was fuming with jealousy at Tully's lack of affection towards her. I always try to tell the man that if he doesn't love her, he'll lose her. "Cousin Henry's funeral?"

She cracks a smile and I squeeze her waist. "We have to go to that school."

"Or..." In one quick move, I flip her over and I am on top of her. "We could cut class."

"Somebody was a bad boy in high school." She replies seductively and bites my lip.

I give an animalistic growl. "Somebody still is."

"Well, then, show me." Is all she says.

"With pleasure." I respond.

I am almost sure that a certain couple people are going to be late for school.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Gomez and I begin the drive to Sherman Elementary, about a twenty-minute drive from Candletop Hill, where we live. Normally, Lurch would take us but it's his day off.

It is an incredibly hot day today, which I despise. I hate overly hot days, and Gomez knows they tend to make me sick. The sun shone through the car window, and the blazing ball of fire burned me. I drew the curtain that Gomez installed last year over it.

"Tish, how long has it been since you drank water?" He asks as he turns a corner.

"Gomez..." I sigh. I know he would never forgive himself if anything happened to me.

I passed out three years ago when Wednesday wanted us to take her to see Cirque de Soleil. I didn't drink enough, Gomez didn't remind me -although that really wasn't his job- and now he is constantly asking me to drink when the temperature exceeds eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

"My darling," he takes my hand and squeezes it. "You know I mean well. I just don't want to see you like..." He sighed. "I had never known true fear until I saw you lying lifeless on the ground. I can't have you go through that again. Hell, I can't go through that again."

I nod. "Yes, mon amour, I know. I also wish that you wouldn't torture yourself." I pause and smile, seductively. "That's my job."

"Oh, Tish..." He kisses my hand.

I nod. "I drank a half hour ago, Gomez and I feel fine."

"Do-"

"Yes, I have a bottle of ice water in the backseat." I say, before he can finish.

"And-"

" _And_ , there's a bit of cyanide in it, don't worry." I again, know what he was going to say.

He nods. "You know I'm checking up on you because you are dearer to me, than all that bats in all the caves in the world, don't you?"

I nod and rest my head against his shoulder.

Our car's driver and passenger seats are connected. It's more like a bus seat. That's how the middle and back seats are. Only the middle can fit three people across and the back could probably fit four petite women.

"I'm aware, mon cher. Thank you. But I'll be fine."

Gomez rubs my shoulder. "You're a very strong woman, Morticia."

I close my eyes briefly, and breath in his scent. I can never get enough of it. "I know."

We buzz in and stand in the front foyer. I am not exactly the biggest fan of that school's interior. It is large, and has brown marble floors. However, the walls are light brown and white. They have what Ms. Komstock, Wednesday's teacher, refers to as 'Mr. Smiling Sunshine' painted on the walls. Next to the horrendously happy depiction of the sun, are rainbows and daisies and music notes. And quotes like, "There is no _I_ in _team_ and _You_ _can't spell success without 'u'_ , are all over the walls. Not to mention the hideous canary yellow that the front desk is coloured. All in all, the interior is awful enough to drive anyone away. But, the other schools within a close distance were even worse. And we know Wednesday needs some sort of social interaction. How else will she one day follow in her magnificent great Aunt Calpurnia's footsteps, and dance naked in the town square or enslave a minister? You need some set of social skills and some sort of college education for that. But first, she must finish school in this dreadful institution.

Mrs. Almondy, Sherman Elementry's secretary, notices us immediately. I wonder why. It's a tad unsettling, especially the way she is looking at me. It's as if I've committed some sort of crime.

Mrs. Almondy has stringy hair in a bob, the colour of a chestnut. She appears as though she has been in the sun for far too long, and her foundation is too dark even for her. Her eyes are a creamy shade of brown, and she is thin as a rail. She dresses a bit like a first-grade school teacher who has given up putting a strong effort into her appearance every day, and is most likely wearing flipflops with that spotless white blouse.

She clears her throat. "Are... are you, M-Mr. and Mrs. Addams?" She asks.

Gomez nods, his left arm linked with my right. "Indeed, we are." He replies and puffs his cigar.

Mrs. Almondy appears speechless. Other parents around us _tsk_ and avert their kids' eyes or avoid ours.

I find it amusing how the general public doesn't think we notice the stares, or the signs of the cross, or the comments. It isn't that we care, we pay no heed to what we do not have to. However, they all call themselves _God-fearing, church-going, Christian, normal, happy._ They believe their way if life is the only way, and they look at our family like there's a seat reserved in hell just for us. We smile with pride. Yes, there very well might be. In which case, see you there.

 _"Sir."_ Mrs. Almondy shakes her head, as if in disbelief at the audacity of my husband for... something or other.

"Yes?" Gomez asks, unsure of what the trouble is.

Then, I see it. I see the sign by the front desk that reminds me all over again of why we almost reconsidered sending our children here. The _no smoking on school grounds_ sign. Apparently, it's everywhere.

I lean in closer to Gomez, my mouth at his ear. "Darling, the sign."

Gomez takes the cigar out of his mouth. "What?" He asks, forgetting that eyesore. That, like everything around here, is sickeningly bright, cheery and colourful.

" _Sir_... the cigar?"

Gomez, ever the gentleman, chuckles. "My apologies, Mrs. Almondy." He pulls a lit cigar from his pocket. "Would you care for one?"

The mothers around us feign being appalled, but they can't take their eyes off of him. I know what they're thinking. My husband is what the church-going ladies call, _temptation_ and _forbidden fruit_. Damn right, he's forbidden. Only it isn't the devil these ladies need to worry about. It's temptation's wife.

I move closer to him, my shoulder's broad. Whenever he does things like that, it makes me even more proud to be Mrs. Addams.

Mrs. Almondy, however, does not share my feelings. "Sir, there is a strict policy at this school. We regard all smoking on school grounds as a public offense. If you don't plan on getting into trouble today, I suggest you put that thing out instantly."

Gomez eyes the sign. "Ah, yes." He sighs and shoves the cigar in his pocket, putting it out immediately. "School policy." He mutters.

"You really ought to do something about that policy." I say.

Mrs. Almondy looks rattled. "Would you sign in, please?" Mrs. Almondy asks.

Gomez obliges. "There you are."

Mrs. Almondy looks over everything. "Yes, alright. Well, you can wait-"

Just then, like an actor just a tad early for their cue, because they were too nervous to wait and risk missing it, Nurse Daughtry enters the foyer and spots us.

Nurse Daughtry is five foot six, and has a good amount of meat on her bones. Her eyes are a crystal blue, and her hair is red-brown in a pageboy cut. Her skin is fair white, and she wears bright coloured nurse's attire, _so as not to scare the children._ I apologize, but Mr. Smiling Sun may look appealing to some people, however to the rest of us, that is just frightening both us and our poor children.

"Mrs. Addams!" She smiles, offputtingly perky.

"Hello, Nurse Daughtry. It is wonderful to see you again." I extend my hand, and she shakes it, a firm and energetic grip, almost like a first job interview.

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine." She glances at Gomez. But... in her eyes, I see traces of a feeling I can't quite name. Worry... suspicion... hate? No. No, her eyes are vaguely predatory. I see it. I feel it. I think he does as well, because his grip on me tightens.

There is a long pause.

"We have the paper all ready for you." I say, breaking the silence.

"Wonderful!" Nurse Daughtry exclaims!

"Yes," Gomez squeezes my shoulder. "My querida and I were up for hours figuring everything out."

"Oh, yes, I imagine you would be..." Her voice trails off. "Up for hours." She finishes the sentence, but her tone is a bit foreboding.

This time, though, it gives me a chill. A chill that I don't welcome. There is something about Nurse Daughtry, although I don't yet know what it is. She just seems a bit fake. Either that, or perhaps I am just not accustomed to perky people.

"Well, I'll walk you to the office and we'll take it from there. I apologize for the ill timing but you two were a half an hour late." Nurse Daughtry explains.

Gomez flashes a devilishly handsome, smug smile, directed at me. "Yes, well, I was tied up."

I can't help but use my eyes and smile back as he brings my pale hand to his soft lips. He isn't wrong, he WAS indeed tied up... and at my mercy.

"Oh... I see." Nurse Daughtry appears to only be half-listening, as if distracted by the door at the end of the hallway longer than the Mississippi.

As we walk, children move throughout the hallway. They stop walking in lines once they are a year past our Wednesday's age, seven. Most of them look at us the way their parents did... with fear, with confusion, with curiosity, some with anger. However, a select few look at us with admiration, and we even get a smile or two. I smile back, and so does Gomez, when he notices. _These_ _children_ , are the future thinkers and will become great minds and even greater people. The kind of people we need in our society. The last thing we need in our town of Briarwood, Massachusetts is more teachers, preachers, cheerleaders and politicians. No, these children are destined for greater things. They can see beyond exterior appearance, and look within. Those brave enough to look find something dark or beautiful... or both. Like us.

We finally reach the nurse's office and Nurse Daughtry sits down at her desk, folding her hands and straightening her back.

We look around, disgusted. The walls are white with rainbows, and _Mr. Sun_ again. The desk is redwood. There's are a bunch of handmade signs from the students of Sherman elementary that read, _We love Nurse Daughtry._

We sit across from her in two chairs.

"Would you like us to go over the list with you? Or would you prefer to-"

Before I can finish, Nurse Daughtry speaks. "No, Mrs. Addams. Thank you. I can manage on my own."

A bit rude, but she is a busy woman, so I think nothing of it. "Alright."

"Is there anything you'd like to discuss with us?" Gomez asks.

Nurse Daughtry shakes her head. "No, Mr. Add-" her eyes glaze over. In fact, she seems as though she has been transported into a different world.

She is frozen for quite some time.

I gracefully wave my hand in front of her face. "Pardon, Nurse Daughtry?"

She shakes her head and continues her sentence, as if nothing happened. "Mr. Addams, as a matter of fact, I _would_ like to ask you a question or two."

Gomez nods. "Very well, ask away."

He and I are not going to let this weird incident go unnoticed. I have a feeling we will be discussing it on the drive back to our house.

Nurse Daughtry gives an eager nod and goes on her computer. I assume, she will begin collecting my specific medical records. "How long have you and Mrs. Addams been together?" She asks, not taking her eyes off of her computer.

Gomez appears taken aback by the out-of-the-blue question, as am I. However, he responds politely, gazing at me with those big, dark, half-lidded eyes. "We've been together eleven years. I met her on the night of my cousin's funeral."

Nurse Daughtry gulps. "My condolen-"

Gomez chuckles, wrapped up in the memory. "Oh, what an event it was!"

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" Nurse Daughtry asks.

"Oh, Balthazar was a hilarious old bastard. But, he was my bastard. We were very close."

I smile, holding back laughter to keep up my stoic image which I am quite proud of.

It is Nurse Daughtry's turn to be taken aback. "Uh-huh." She sighs. "Do you know what your wife's blood looks like?" She asks.

My eyes grow wide, and Gomez seems a bit offended.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask.

"Well, it may seem a rather bizarre question but... do you?"

Gomez shakes his head in confusion. "Yes, I do." He responds.

Nurse Daughtry nods. "Do you know what it tastes like?" She asks.

Alright. I changed my mind. I don't like this nurse, and I don't trust her, around me or my children.

"Nurse Daughtry, I _do_ believe that is a rather personal question." I say.

"In this context, it isn't. It's all for medical purposes." She responds, smiling at me... but in a way, that makes me uneasy. In fact, I am not feeling all that well.

Nurse Daughtry seems to notice. "Water, Mrs. Addams?" She stands.

Gomez takes hold of my arm. "Tish, you have to drink." He looks up at Nurse Daughtry. "Yes, please, she gets dehydrated. It's this dreadful heat."

Nurse Daughtry has a glass of water poured and in Gomez's hand within two seconds. "Here you are, Mr. Addams."

Gomez nods a thank you and hands me the water. "Drink, Morticia. Please."

I pat his hand, trying to ease his concern as I let every last drop of cool water trickle down my throat. It stings, but only slightly. I write it off and stand. "Pardon me, but I have to use the restroom."

"Down the hall and to your left." Nurse Daughtry suddenly becomes very animated. "How long will you be gone?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I... don't know. I'll be back as soon as possible."

I walk out then, taking one last look at my concerned Gomez. And I instantly regret leaving him alone with her.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I don't trust her, and I want to leave with my wife and children and never return. But I know I can't. I can't for two reasons, extremely similar to each other. A.) I don't want to make a wrong move and put Morticia in danger. B.) I don't want to make a wrong move and put Morticia in danger.

"What is the meaning of this?" I must ask, but I ask as calmly as I can.

"Mr. Addams, we need to talk about your wife."

"Yes, I got that." I say. "What about her?"

She stares me down and mutters something along the lines of, "What _do_ you get up to?"

I can't keep quiet. "Pardon me?"

"Mr. Addams, you mentioned your wife gets dehydrated easily in this heat. Do your children show any of the same symptoms.

I shake my head. "No. Wednesday doesn't even suffer from photosensitivity. She just carries a black umbrella all of the time because she looks up to her mother."

"No other health problems with your wife?"

" _Problems?_ No, why?" I ask, concerned for my black angel.

"I want you to answer honestly, Mr. Addams. Think carefully." She does not answer my question.

I think. I do. But no, none that I can recall. Nothing abnormal. "No. Now, if I could take my wife when she gets back and leave-"

"Not so fast." Nurse Daughtry shakes her finger. "One more question."

"Yes?"

"How long does it take her to-"

Before I can respond, Morticia is back. And I see concern in her eyes. I stand and take her hands. "Are you alright, darling?" I ask.

"Yes, mon cher. I'll be alright." Oh, well that's reassuring (not buying it). "Are you ready to leave?"

"Alright." We will talk about this in the car.

We shake Nurse Daughtry's hand.

"It was a pleasure, Nurse Daughtry. Drive recklessly in your way home." It never ceases to amaze me how together and cordial Morticia can be, even when she herself, is struggling. She's a wonder.

Nurse Daughtry nods, on the phone. I can hear it ringing.

I link arms with Tish and lead her out of the room, not wanting to be there any longer.

Nurse Daughtry is out of our field of view, as we are hers. But before we are even five feet away from the door, I hear her on the phone.

"Yes. Doctor?" Who the hell is she talking to? I wonder. But, it is the next sentence that chills me. "I have her medical records."


	5. Through the Broken Looking Glass

Chapter 3: Through the Broken Looking Glass

 _"What light?" Laughed the darkness. "I know only pain and grief. I know only trickery of the mind."_

 _"Precisely." The small golden light chuckled. "That is why you are darkness. That is why in a drunken state, I feel euphoric. You wither. The darkness always withers."_

 _"Not true." The darkness replied. "Sometimes, I triumph. After all, whenever the sun sets, the moon comes in and takes its place."_

 _"Ah-ah. But the moon's light has much to do with the sun." Light contradicted._

 _"No. Scientifically, yes. But not really. The moon is hated and feared, the sun is praised and adored. They are different creatures from different worlds. The sun is light, the moon is darkness. You said so yourself." Darkness smiled, defiant._

 _"Since when did you listen to me? I thought darkness was evil and defiant. Darkness needn't listen to a soul."_

 _"I listen. It was you whom classified darkness as evil and defiant. But as far as souls go, I needn't listen to souls. You don't have one."_

 _"Yes, I do." Light grew quickly offended, and darkness couldn't help but give a slight smile. "I'm light, as pure and clear as the day that I am. It is you who hasn't a soul."_

 _"Being light hasn't the damndest thing to do with having a soul. Light, I may be dark. But I have been through every single sunrise, have seen every single heat stroke, every single death, every single illness caused by you. Now tell me, light. Tell me how you are so pure, and clear. Tell me again how you have a soul, and I haven't?"_

 _"If have done such terrible things as you suggest, how come you never once intervened, never once tried to stop me?" The oblivious light asked._

 _"I have no place in the day. Besides, you are merely biting the hand that feeds you. You destroy those who praise you." Darkness replied._

 _"So do you." Light grew more and more defensive by the second. "Killers are born in the dark."_

 _Darkness shook its head. "That may be so. But it is not my fault that people abuse me. It is not my fault that they chose to carry out dastardly crimes concealed from the light of day."_

 _"Witchcraft happens in the dark, you know." Light took a gentle sip of its wine._

 _Darkness was not going to say anything more, but it could not contain itself. Darkness sighed. "Yes. And that is because the witches, the homicidal maniacs, and the misunderstood feel discriminated against in the light of day. In the dark, they can be themselves, and it is I will not judge them."_

 _Light grew curious. "Will you?" It asked._

 _Darkness moved not. "That is for you to decide, light. After all, does one -to quote you- without a soul really have the power to judge?"_

 _The Battle Between Light and Darkness... Or Rather a Small Discussion_

 _Morticia Addams_

 _March 11th, 1995_

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Morticia writes. I have known this since our honeymoon, when I stumbled upon a leather-bound book. In it were well-written stories, but just a couple of paragraphs long, at most a page or two. They had no real starting point and no real end. When I asked her about them, she explained that these stories were based on the hypocrisies, double-standards and misunderstandings of the world. However, they were colourfully scripted so that only the daring or strong-of-mind would know just what point she was trying to get across in her stories.

I loved them, I still do. Often, whenever I ask, she will allow me to read these stories. She doesn't do that for anyone else, except sometimes Wednesday or Pugsley. It isn't that she isn't fully confident in her abilities. Truth be told, I believe it is because she doesn't know what she is even writing half the time, it just flows out of her like some beautiful twisted masterpiece and I adore it. If they were published, our shelves in the library would be lined with her stories.

But it has not all been wonderful.

Two weeks, it's been. The days, filled with blissful pain and beauty alongside my Morticia, and parenting our two little devils, Wednesday and Pugsley. But the nights... oh, the nights are a different story. The nights are filled with dreams of terror, violence -not the good kind- and... I've noticed, some of these dreams are filled with the future.

The second night after Tish and I dropped her medical information off, for example, I dreamt that Wednesday brought her collection of black widow spiders to school. The spiders got loose and one bit the teacher. She was rushed to the hospital and lived by mere seconds.

The next day... that exact thing happened.

Last weekend, I dreamt that Morticia and I had just finished making love -finally, a dream I am thankful for- and she was in my arms, whilst I was rubbing her back, letting her drift off. But before she did, she explained to me that Lurch would need next week off. His aunt died and he needed to attend her wake and funeral service in Ohio.

 _"Mon cher," she began. "Lurch... he's going to need the week off from the 12th to the 19th." Her eyes were closing, and she pressed into me, my heat contrasting with her cold. I love the feeling of her icy skin against my own._

 _"Of course, darling. I will give Lurch my condolences and make sure he gets the week off. We'll even give him some money for the hotel." I said, my voice grew quiet. "Get some sleep, Tish."_

 _Morticia nodded. "Alright, darling. Do you think about four thousand dollars is sufficient?" She asked._

 _"Quite. Goodnight, cara mia." I kiss her._

 _"Goodnight, mon amour." She replies and closes her eyes, falling to sleep._

Two days later, Lurch's aunt died. We had that exact conversation.

The glimpses of the future frighten me immensely. What will happen if these are _all_ glimpses into the near or distant future? The hospital. Morticia. _The blood._

Yes, the blood. Lately all I have been seeing in my turmoil filled dreams is Morticia's blood, sometimes my blood. Just blood. And sometimes someone shot her, tortured her, or me. But all I ever see is blood and that god-forsaken hospital room.

Only the hospital room has become clearer. There doctors' and scientists' tools, dissection needles and vials of blood or stethoscopes. The room is white and has a tile floor. There is a chair with straps for one's wrists against the back wall, and clipboards galore. But the room is destroyed, and looks as though chaos and pain had a child, and all that child ever wore was red. The blood.

In these dreams, it feels cold, and I have this aching chest pain that I can't explain, even if I am not in the dream. My heart, my entire being aches in ways I cannot begin to fully explain. The pain is worse than anything I have ever felt, and it isn't even real.

But Morticia doesn't know anything about it. Yes, yes, I am aware that I said that one of the main foundations of our relationship is honesty. That is true, and it will always be true. But I refuse to worry my darling querida's head about any of this until I am certain of what's going on.

However, I do believe she is sensing that something is up. I won't leave her side, which, isn't anything abnormal. Except, we used to have our personal moments, everyone needs them. I would be showing Pugsley efficiently remove a stop sign from the roadside, and Morticia would be sewing up a hole in Wednesday's dress. But now, I don't leave her side, period unless I absolutely have to.

Tish doesn't say anything to me about it, but I can tell she has her concerns. Little does she know, my concerns are that my awful dreams are going to become reality. I _refuse_ to allow that to happen.

I fully awaken, and I cock my head, staring adoringly at the sleeping, naked gothic temptress in my arms. God, she is breathtaking. I could stare at her for hours. I know her features and her lithe yet curvaceous body better than the back of my own hand.

I watch Tish's chest rise and fall in a slow and steady pattern, and then she begins to stir.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

My eyes flutter open, and I awake to Gomez staring at me, with that adoring gaze I am absolutely insane for.

"Good morning, mon amour." I greet him.

Last night was magical, as usual. But I couldn't help but sense agitation in Gomez's voice when I went to grab two glasses of wine before the night was over. He seemed worried, as if something were going to happen to me between a couple of flights of stairs and an old mansion that I've called home for a solid eleven years.

"Good morning, carita." He gently pushes a strand of raven hair out of my face and strokes my cheek. "How was your night?"

I follow his gaze to my neck. It has a bit of dried blood on it, from last night. I sigh, in ecstasy. "It was magnificent, Gomez. It couldn't have gone any other way, with what went on." I respond, alluding to our role reversal last night. I don't usually let him conquer me that early, sometimes not at all. But last night... he begged, he won, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it.

"I live for your pleasure." Gomez gives a low growl and kisses my neck, where I was bitten the night before.

"I know." I reply. "You prove it like that every day or night."

Gomez eyes me. "Or both." He grins, seductively.

"Mon diable..." I French him, right here, now. I need him, it's been almost an entire night since our tongues touched.

It has been two weeks since we gave Nurse Daughtry my medical information, and Gomez hasn't left my side since. At all. I love him more than anyone else in the world, but he used to arm wrestle with Thing or meet with Tully in the office. Not anymore. He rarely ever leaves my side. And it is quite alarming, as every time I so much as try to ask if he is okay, he become quite defensive and starts perspiring.

I am not blind. I am an intelligent woman, and I know when someone is keeping something from me. And I would be terribly hurt and angry if I weren't doing the same thing.

We have never kept secrets from each other before, and I say that with full confidence. I would testify that in a court of law. However, I have to keep this one. That is, until I figure out just what _this one_ is.

Lately, I have been seeing things... _startling_ things, in mirrors. I don't know what on earth that means, but I don't believe it is anything good.

It began the night we left Wednesday and Pugsley's school. It started small.

 _I was getting ready for bed that night and brushing my hair at my vanity when I turned my head to the side, and my cheek had a gash in it. I didn't feel anything, however in the mirror, I saw it clear as day. I blinked, but it would not go away. I calmly called for Gomez and he stared directly in the mirror and kissed my shoulder. I smiled, but was determined not to become sidetracked. "Gomez, do you see that?" I asked him._

 _He gently took my silver filigree hairbrush and began brushing my hair. "See what, my dearest?" He asked._

 _"My..." I put another hand to my cheek. In the mirror, I was touching the open wound but in actuality, I felt not a thing._

 _"All I see is you and your beauty, mi encantadora." Gomez said and finished brushing._

 _I nod, kissing him. "I could have sworn I saw something on on my cheek." I inadvertently said out loud._

 _Gomez gently turned my head and looked in the mirror. He did not see anything I saw, because he replied with, "I don't see anything alarming." His eyes fixated on the black whip next to our bed. "Well, except that."_

 _He always knows what to say. I stood, my hair pushed over my shoulder and allowed him to lead me over to our bed._

I wrote it off as a mindfuck -pardon me but that is what it was- and the gash wasn't there when I awoke.

But, that evening I was looking in our bathroom mirror, and I had a gunshot wound over my _heart_. Startled, I took a step back and studied my reflection. It was right there, bleeding and looking very real.

I put a hand over my heart and felt nothing, but my reflection had some awful, ice cold, foreboding stare as it copied my movements, only it's hand was covered in blood. Well. That wasn't good.

My eyes shifted between myself and my reflection and both versions were similar yet vastly different.

I shook my head, and walked out of the bathroom, ready to return to dinner. All night, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

These small occurrences happened six times over the past two weeks. I never like to admit my vulnerability, but truth be told, I am frightened. However, I refuse to so much as entertain the idea of my going mad. I have too much to live for, and I haven't even turned thirty.

I know I should talk to Gomez. But the last thing I want to do is worry him. This has not been happening for the past two days, so maybe they've subsided.

 _"Gomez... sun."_ I raise my hands. _"Il moi pierce comme un poignard." Sun,_ I said. _It pierces me like a dagger._

Gomez passionately kisses my hand and takes a rapier off the wall, closing our dark brown blinds and shutting out the sun, the room becoming dark once again, just how I like it.

"What time is it, darling?" I ask.

Gomez glances at the old clock on the wall. It had been collecting dust up in our attic until recently, when Lurch found it. It was black with intricate gothic patterns designs of ghosts, ghouls and spirits all over it. The clock was bulbous, but not huge. It blended quite well with our room, and I decided to keep it. Gomez didn't object, but then again, why would he? It's a magnificent old clock.

"Eleven o'clock." He replies. "Well, cara mia, it appears we've missed breakfast."

I nod. "Yes, it appears so." My illusive gaze shifts from his own, seductive version and there is a period of silence as I wait for his next move.

As if on cue, he crawls on top of me and looks me in the eyes, his own full of an impassioned, animalistic lust and it thrills me. "God, Morticia... I can never get enough of you." He growls and sucks my neck, surely leaving a hiki.

I moan. "Yes, darling, I know." After last night, I am going to play hard to get.

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, Tish... must you torture me this early in the morning?" He sounds like a hungry wolf and a wounded puppy all at once, but I won't be so quick to melt no matter what the heat. But _my god, my god, the flames._

"Yes. I let you dominate me last night, and you won't get away with it this morning." I reply.

"I see. Would it help if you were intoxicated?"

I shake my head. "No, darling... I already am. And that won't get you anywhere but tied down and at my mercy." I kneel on the bed, and his arms wrap around my waist.

" _Mmm..._ well, in that case, querida..." He bites my lip, causing it to bleed. "Torture me."

I am fully spent, and Gomez is in our closet, looking for a tie. A full three hours was spent making him pay for conquering me last night. And it feels wonderful to be back in control.

Although, we both know we have full emotional power over each other, even though he would be the first to admit it. The thing is, we trust each other with everything we have, so everything is what we give. Betraying the other is not the last thing we would ever do, it's one thing we would _never_ do.

I finish applying my crimson lipstick in the mirror and purse my lips. The instant I do, my reflection changes. Only, it is different than what has previously occurred.

My mirror was already cracked -Thing did it for luck- but now it appears shattered. My entire body is covered in blood, my hair is matted and most of my makeup is off. I am wearing a hospital gown and have an alarmed expression on my face. And the worst of all, I will make the slightest movement, but my reflection -if I can even call it that- remains perfectly still. It is chilling.

My breathing slows, and I don't move. When nervous, I am the picture of calmness. When breaking inside, I am the picture of elegance. No one suspects anything. I can walk into a store and make anyone who doesn't know me believe I am a mannequin.

"What..." The words escape in a barely audible whisper, but it is enough, because the next thing I know, my reflection begins to talk back.

 _"What?"_ It has my voice, but I sound more deflated than usual... like some part of me is missing, or has died.

"You... this isn't possible." I refuse to indulge this delusion. I have enough on my mind as it is, and I could do without a lack there of, thank you.

 _"Isn't it?"_ My reflection raises... _it's_ eyebrow. _"I am talking to you, at the present. Am I not?"_

I nod, inadvertently. It is as if my head is being pulled up and down by some invisible string, but I do not know who or what the puppeteer is. "You are." I stop nodding, desperately trying to control myself.

 _"I am. But I won't have to for long."_ It says. _"Soon, you will be doing my work for me."_

"Pardon?" I ask, with the voice of a curious child, lost and scared, in a bright, colourful world with no one to turn to for a little ray of darkness. I want to kick myself for using this sort of tone with _myself_.

 _"Your mind will be sludge, and I can just sit on the sidelines, watching it all happen."_ It folds its hands, the way I always do. _"It was you who once wrote that the moon is cast aside and forgotten while the sun is praised for its bright glory?"_

"I wrote that a year ago." I say, but I continued the 'story' on March 11th, two days ago. I don't know why I am talking to this thing but I can't stop. I cannot, _will_ not relinquish myself control to this being. "Who are you?" I demand.

 _"Silly Tish. I'm you."_ It laughs.

I shake my head. "You can't be me. I never wear white." My tone is cold, and defiant.

 _"Oh, dear... you will soon enough."_ It replies, it's tone matching mine.

Before I can respond... a figure resembling my old Doctor Albert Winthrop, appears behind me in the mirror. He is wearing a hospital mask, and he, too is covered in my blood.

 _No._ Dr. Winthrop was a terrible man. He would always keep me late after my appointments, buy me the most inappropriate presents and brush my ass when I stood up from the chair. I was fifteen. He was forty-two. Once, he grabbed me, kissed me and put his down my shirt. I bent it backward. He didn't know I possessed such venom. But I got him fired for that... in a matter of speaking.

Well he has some sort of a predatory grin on his face, and is coming toward me with a needle that has some sort of blue liquid in it.

I gasp and back away, falling off my black velvet stool and onto the floor. Quickly, I turn, my eyes looking like a deer in headlights. I look, and I see a pair of black shoes... bearing a remarkable resemblance the ones Dr. Winthrop used to wear. "I _swear_ if you,-" I stop when my alarmed husband bends down to eye level with me.

"Tish?" He seems alarmed.

"Yes, darling?" I ask, unsure of just what he had witnessed.

"Tish... you were talking to yourself in the mirror, and you flew off of that stool. You never jump, what is the matter?" He cups my cheek, concerned.

"Nothing, darling." I snap back to reality, my strings cut... for now. "I just saw the strangest..." I look back in the mirror, and my reflection is there, still. _"There!"_ Maybe he will see it and explain that Máma came over to practice her magick and something went wrong, or she spilled her soup on my mirror. But, the world likes to pull cruel jokes on its inhabitants. I am one of them. "Don't you see it?"

Gomez follows my gaze to my mirror. "Morticia, the only thing I see is us and that chair. Is there something I am missing?"

"Look carefully." I persist. "You don't see anything unusual?"

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. "Of course I do, querida. You are very unusual. And by God, I adore you for that." Gomez kisses me.

I want to be relieved, to wrap myself in his arms, and never let go. I want to forget the world, and the new one I have now found myself in. But I don't know if that's possible.

After a while, I break the kiss. "Mon amour, I'm awfully hungry. Do you think you could make me that rattail soup again? You're actually quite good at preparing it. I dare say even better at it than me?"

Gomez smiles. "Of course, my dearest, anything you're heart desires. Come downstairs with me and get comfortable. I'll make you some lunch."

Oh, he's so devoted to me. The thought of keeping this from him makes me physically ill. In fact, I think I may _be_ physically ill. "Yes, Gomez, I'll meet you downstairs right after I finish up here."

I can tell by the look on his face that he isn't too keen on that idea. "Morticia... are you quite sure that you need to finish anything? You look breathtaking, you always do."

I allow him to help me to my feet. "Merci, mon cher."

Gomez practically devours my fingers in that instant. _"That French..."_ He moans.

 _"Those lips..."_ I give a reply.

Gomez kisses up my arm, my neck and reaches my lips. I relish the taste of him, and wish we could stay like this forever. However, just because crying hunger was a distraction, it was not a lie.

"I'll be right down, mon diable." I say.

"I'll be in the kitchen." He replies and kisses me one last time before I walk into the bathroom.

I close the door behind me, and lean against it, my back colder than the door itself. What on earth is happening to me? I slip down and am now kneeling against the door, my head in my hands, unprepared for what I am about to see.

After a few minutes, I gather my strength and stand. I stare directly into the mirror, waiting for that monstrosity to appear.

But it is gone.

 ** _Thank you for the support! Writing this is a wonderful journey, but I will not be able to update all of the time, as this story is novel-like. And I may be posting shorter stories between posting chapters for this one._**


	6. Black Beauty

Chapter 4: Black Beauty

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Morticia awakens in a panicked sweat. She almost always falls asleep first, as her breathing and comfort allows me to rest. So, when there is an abrupt change in her movement, I instantly awaken.

"Tish?" I am gripping her shoulders, so she can face me... and what I see terrifies me.

The whites of her eyes only show, they are rolled back in her head. She is speaking in a tongue I cannot understand and covering her ears, like something is going to attack her. Blood drips from her chin. Her head makes a snapping noise as it cocks to the side.

"Morticia, whatever this is, you need to wake up." I try to remain calm. Morticia once said that in a situation where a magick may be concerned, one must remain calm. And this scene playing out right now seems otherworldly.

 _"Ut eam tu non ex nobis. Iridis iam illam non habet. Non potes accipere eam. Ut eam tu non potes!"_ She gives a low, inhuman growl.

"Stay the hell away from her!" I yell, at what, I am not entirely sure. "Take me instead!"

The whites of her eyes instantly toward my neck, a hungry animal that has, at long last found its prey. _What the hell?_

She lunges at me, and her teeth are about to take a chunk out of my skin when she suddenly returns to normal.

Her eyes roll back to those beautiful brown iris' I adore. The blood is gone, and she is trying to form coherent sentences in English.

I gently take her hand. _"Morticia..."_

Morticia notices the teeth marks. And she bursts into tears.

I grab her, desperately trying to console her. "Shh... shh..." I rub her back. "My darling, I am alright. It's you I'm worried about."

She can barely speak and cannot stop shaking.

I kiss her head. "It's alright, Morticia. I promise, whatever happened, it's over. It's over." I methodically move my hand from her lower back to her neck, massaging it. I am doing whatever I can to make sure she knows she is safe and tight in my embrace.

"G-Gomez?" I have never seen my Tish more frightened, she has never stuttered in all her twenty-nine years of life.

"It's me, darling. It's me. I am not going anywhere." I sit her in my lap and she grabs me, tightly, as if worried that I could slip away from her at any moment.

No. The devil _himself_ couldn't tear me away from my querida.

"Gomez..." She runs her fingers over the fading teeth marks. "Did I do that?"

She remembers the incident, that is obvious. That's... good?

I do not want to upset her, but I cannot lie to her. "No. I mean, it had your body but... no, it couldn't have been you."

A fresh flood of tears comes crashing in the instant I utter that sentence. She buries her head in my shoulder and I stroke her hair.

"Darling, forgive me!" She pleaded. "I don't know what that was, it was like I had no control over myself. I just had this insatiable urge to..." Her voice trailed off.

Forgive her? She had nothing to be forgiven for. "Morticia, darling, please, I know it wasn't you. You probably just had a bad reaction to a dream you were having. Máma brought you a pot of that soup yesterday, she could have sprinkled some potion in it." I am grasping at straws, attempting to come up with some sort of logical explanation for what just happened.

She nods, seemingly trying to convince herself I am right. I can't blame her. "Dreams..." She shook her head. "Gomez, I..."

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Oh, God, the _dreams_. I had had awful dreams that kept me tossing and turning all night.

In one, I was in a hospital gown, running for my life down a long, empty corridor... and I have blood, _my_ blood all over me. There is blood everywhere... so much blood. I am then dragged away by Dr. Winthrop.

In another, I am in a grand white room that had been blown to bits. There are dead bodies all around me, in a sea of red. Gomez is holding me, weeping and I want to tell him I am alright, but no words escape my throat... only blood.

But then, in the last one, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I had this insatiable urge to... eat. No. No, the real word, is kill. I took a chunk right out of Gomez's-

Oh. My. God.

Now, this was getting serious. The mirrors, the hospital, Gomez, the dreams... the _blood_.

"Gomez, I have been having terrible dreams! They've kept me up." I confess, closing the tiniest amounts of space between us, my leg wrapped over his. I feel like a scared child, crawling into my parents' bedroom when there is no rain outside but I don't care. I am scared. I need him, I just need to feel him, to know he is here.

"Oh, Tish..." He kisses me and uses his free hand, as both arms are around me, and takes my hand that isn't clutching him and my chest.

After kissing my fingers, he speaks. "What happened?"

I tell him about the dream about Dr. Winthrop and the hospital. But I don't tell him about the mirrors. For how can I expect him to believe me, when I don't even believe myself?

He grows silent. His eyes gloss over, his face is an array of mysterious thought, and now I am concerned. Was it too much for him? Lord, I should never have told him.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

The dreams. Morticia is having my dreams. Just last night, I dreamt about... this morning. Only the clock on the wall, in the dream read-

I glance at it. 3:00 am. So, these dreams are visions. And now Tish, my poor Tish, is having them too.

"Querida..." Should I tell her? I have been battling this internal struggle for what feels like an eternity. I have to say something. I cannot let her continue to suffer, but I feel helpless.

"Yes?" Morticia's voice is barely audible.

"I know _exactly_ what you are talking about." I confess.

Morticia's eyes enlarge. "What?" It is as if she cannot believe what she is hearing.

"I do, darling. These dreams you speak of... I have been having them for weeks." It feels like a weight off of my shoulders to be able to tell her.

"Gomez..." Her face would be the picture of calmness to anyone else, but I can read her like a children's picture book. Her face is a mix of fear and relief. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Morticia, I assume for the same reason you didn't tell me." I say, honestly. "I couldn't worry you, I wasn't even sure what I was seeing. But it was horrible. They are all about you..."

Then, something quite chilling occurs.

 _"And there's so much_ ** _blood_** _."_ We say in unison.

We stare at each other in silence, unsure of what to do next. We don't have to decide, fate decides for us.

All of the sudden, I am transported to the... to some vivid, dream.

 _The room is white, and two men in lab coats are in it. The floor is dirt, and it appears that we are in some clean basement. A strong, musty odour fills the air. In the middle of the room, there is a large chair next to a table with needles laid out on it._

 _I have taken on the feelings of the person in the chair... a fifteen-year-old Morticia. I am strapped in, and there is a pit of fear forming in my stomach._

 _"You know what you have to do." A tall, thin man, with dark, shaggy hair and a long face, says to a short, blonde-haired doctor._

 _"I can't." The blonde-haired doctor's tone is more like a whine._

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because, you know I can't stand the sight of blood."_

 _The dark-haired man's name comes to mind. Dr. Winthrop. My feelings of fear quickly turn to those of anger, and I am nauseous._

 _"I'll do it, Marion." Dr. Winthrop grabs a large needle off of the table and makes eyes at me, I look away._

 _He grabs my chin, carefully but his grip is tight. He forces out eyes to meet. "You're a pretty girl, Morticia." He licks his lips. "I'm just taking a little blood."_

 _"I don't want you taking any more of my blood." I say, my tone strong amidst my internal fear._

 _"I know, but I have to, black beauty." He replies and silently instructs the other doctor to grab my arm and tie black elastic to it, tightly._

 _"Don't call me that." I say. He has always been extremely inappropriate with me, and it is to the point where I have to call him o on it._

 _"Okay, dark princess." The nicknames he gives me are inappropriate as well, I am fifteen and he is in his forties._

 _"Stop-"_

 _A needle is jabbed into my arm before I can finish the sentence, and I yelp inside._

 _"Now..." Dr. Winthrop uses his free hand to stroke my hair._

 _"Please just do your job." I say._

 _"Oh, I am. But I have a free hand."_

 _"Not for long." I reply._

 _"Feisty. I like it." He nips at the air and kisses my cheek, but he won't take his eyes off of my breasts. They are two mesmerizing diamonds and he is under some sort of spell. A spell I don't want him under._

 _When it is all over, I am let out of the chair and try to leave, but Dr. Winthrop grabs me._

 _"Let me go!" I kick._

 _He kisses me, and gropes my ass. His hand is in my shirt, and he grabs my breast. That is when I grab his hand and bend it back, most likely breaking the bone._

 _He cries out in pain and I walk up the stairs._

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Oh, no. He saw it. One of my worst memories. "Gomez-"

"Tish..." He shakes his head. "what _was_ that?"

I sigh. "It was... darling, Dr. Winthrop was a very evil man. He performed tests on me when I was fifteen. He called me _black beauty_. He was a predator, I looked like prey. He got too close and he paid for it."

Gomez looks as though he is going to cry. "I am so sorry, my darling." He takes my hands and kisses them. "I felt that, the nausea, the fear."

This has gone from peculiar to paranormal. "You _felt_ it?"

He nods. "Yes, and I don't know what that means."

I hold my head in my hand, my arm propped up, my back bent. "It means there is something very wrong. It means that something happened to us and now we are getting glimpses of each other's past."

Gomez runs his thumb over my one hand he is holding. "Well, darling, we haven't seen-"

 _I am outside behind Debutant Hall. There is a party going on, and I am in the middle of coming down from a pretty good high -metaphorically speaking. I puff my cigar and wonder where on earth my brother could be. I haven't seen him since the twins and I walked upstairs to that show bedroom. Truth be told, I didn't do much with them. Hell, we didn't even get to serious foreplay. The twins wanted a big, real relationship and I wanted a good time. We ended up having an okay time, but that was about it._

 _I went back downstairs, and broke off with the twins for a moment to find Fester. But he was nowhere to be seen._

 _Was it very chivalrous of me? Not really. But I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between my brother and I. After all, I am the more debonair and suave between the two of us. My best friend, Enrique is constantly telling me that I could have any woman I want, dead or alive. I don't know how true that is, but I do know that I have known Flora and Fauna Amor for years, and we all just want to have a good time._

 _I put out my cigar and after a few minutes, figured I should go back and find Fester._

 _I begin to walk, and I run into a large, eighteen-year-old. He is big, and pudgy. He is wearing a suit that matches mine, but in a bigger size. He is five foot eight and a half, where as I am six foot two. He has rather pronounced bags under his brown eyes. And he hadn't any hair since he was born._

 _"Fester!" I slap him, playfully. "I've been looking for you for an hour, old man!" I chuckle. "Cigar?" I offer._

 _He has a dejected look on his face. "No." He replies. He never smoked, he tried it once and almost died. It was a rather amusing memory._

 _"Something wrong?" I ask._

 _He then pulls me back to where I stood a minute or two ago, smoking my cigar. "Yes." He says._

 _"What, can I help?" I ask. Then I nudge him. "Need a wingman?"_

 _"Not this time._ ** _Not ever again_** _." He replies, although I cannot tell he is angry._

 _I raise an eyebrow. "You're engaged?" I ask._

 _He shakes his head. "I could have been. At least I thought. But with you... that can never happen."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Don't pretend you don't know! I know you took the Amor twins up to that bedroom. That was supposed to be me in there with them. You've done it seven times before-"_

 _"Eight." I correct._

 _"I'm a virgin! I could have had my first time, but no. You couldn't let that happen!"_

 _"Fester-"_

 _"No! Every time I have a new woman in my grasp, you come in and snatch her away! And of course, they latch onto you like leeches. You're the good-looking one and I'm the screw-up. Is that how it's supposed to work?" He is a steaming pile of rage._

 _"Fester, you know it isn't like that." I say._

 _"Liar!" He yells, hurt. He begins to walk away._

 _Now, I am angry. "Don't call me a liar! I have done more for you than anybody you know!"_

 _"Oh, really?" He turns around._

 _"Yes, really! I was the one who wrote love letters for you to give to Raven Valore, that exchange student in the sixth grade!"_

 _"That was-"_

 _"I was the one to lie to mother and father in order for you to spend a night in jail-"_

 _"But-"_

 _"_ ** _Just_** _because I knew it was your dream. I was the one who helped you get revenge on Seymour Alvenstein for making you do his algebra homework!"_

 _He is silent for a minute. "You may have been. But, you call yourself my brother yet have stolen every lady I have ever tried to have a relationship with since birth!"_

 _"No, I haven't! I didn't_ ** _steal_** _any one of them! How can I help it if they came to me? Hmm?" I ask, expecting a ridiculous excuse for a response._

 _"You can tell them you won't betray your brother! You can tell them that I am a great guy and if they can't see that, then it's their loss. You don't have to just accept the title of the looker and leave me to rot in a sack! Wait... no, I'd like that. You don't just have to accept the title of the looker and leave me to... to rot in the sun!"_

 _"How_ ** _dare_** _you suggest such a thing!"_

 _"Oh, please! You'd lose your dick if it wasn't attached to a woman!" He yelled._

 _That was by far, the most insulting thing that my brother had ever said to me. "At least I_ ** _have_** _one!" I shoot back._

 _"So do I!" He yelled, defensively._

 _"Fine! At least I have one that people actually want to see! It isn't my fault if the women want me with them! I try to help you, it isn't my fault if while that happens, they end up looking elsewhere! Everything I do, I do to help you!"_

 _"Oh, really? Really, how does bringing home a new woman 24/7 help me? How does stealing any woman I want to be with help me in any way?"_

 ** _"I. Did Not. Steal. Anyone!"_** _I yell._

 _"Well, if that's how it's going to be forever, that's how it's going to be." He looked me directly in the eyes. "The only person you care about is yourself, Gomez. You don't care about me, and you don't even care about the women you sleep with. What are you going to do someday when everyone around you is getting married and having kids? Exactly. You are going to be alone, still bringing home meaningless women. And I am not going to be there to help you." He began to walk away again._

 _"I don't need you there to help me! I don't need you at all!" I yell, tears of rage ready to burn my eyes at any second._

 _I drove us to Debutant Hall. And I walk back into the place and find the twins._

 _"Girls, I have to leave." I say._

 _They kiss me, beg me to stay but they can protest, I am gone and in the car. I wait in the car until 3:00 am, until the man in charge of the party says it is time to leave. Offended, nauseous and enraged, I drive off, expecting to find my brother waiting for me in the morning, ready to make up._

 _But he isn't there._

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I rarely cry. I am a passionate man, and I only cry if something bad happens to Morticia, or my children, and I cried for days when Fester left. But now, now I can feel a tear run down my cheek. I haven't felt those emotions since that fateful night. But I quickly realize that this means Morticia saw and felt everything. I told her what a cad I used to be, and she told me about how her father died and how the movie, _Carrie_ reminded her too much of her own school life. But she never saw how much of a man-whore I was, and I never wanted her to.

She shakes her head, slowly.

"Morticia..." I don't know how to start, what to say. "Tish, my dearest, that was ages ago."

She nods and looks at me, sympathy in her eyes. "Gomez, I know. Don't mistake my silence for anger. When I saw, I felt. I know what you were feeling. I know you changed when you met me... I know, I changed you. Just... seeing that, it..."

God, I adore that woman. "Morticia, you know I only invited the twins to a couple of parties because they married into the family, and their husband died. If I didn't invite them, the family would think ill of them or me or both, and then waters might not be so muddy..." I was trying to explain myself, to make sure she knew I didn't love them and I still don't. I love her and only her, and I always will.

She nods. "I know." Morticia then gracefully lies back on the bed, clearly in thought.

I get up and kneel before her next to our bed. "Tish... please tell me you know that. I would do anything for you, I worship the ground you walk on, amore."

She turns her head towards me, and I kiss her hand.

"Truly, you still desire me after eleven years of marriage?"

I nod. "Yes, carita. _Forever_."

She sighs, lightly. "I don't know why I saw that."

I climb onto the bed, still a slave to her every desire, desperate to earn the trust back that I never even lost. I hover over her and run my fingers through her midnight black, silky hair.

Her arms are above her head, and she is the picture of gothic elegance, it makes my knees weak just looking at her.

I plant a rough kiss on her porcelain neck, sucking it. And I watch her ruby lips curve into a small smile. She's won. I will admit it. This power she has over me, has TAKEN over me. Tonight, I am going to make her remember how much she means to me (even though I can tell she already knows). I am going to ravage her, worship her and exist solely for her pleasure.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

He knows perfectly well I needed to torture him. We need to get out minds off of whatever is going on and tonight, I'm in charge. But the best part is, I don't have to say anything. Gomez knows what I like, what I adore and what is going to send me over the edge, and right now, he wants to do it all. And I am not going to stand in his way.

I moan at his caresses and his touch. I sit up, briefly to take off my clothing but he does it for me, and I lie back down. I watch him strip, faster than usual, desperation taking its toll. I can feel his string, warm hands roam all over my naturally cold body, and I close my eyes, relishing in the slow, sensual, red hot kisses that are making my heart skip several beats. He massages my breasts, and ensnares my lips in a passionate kiss. He moves his tongue downward, and I can feel my muscles tighten.

 _"Gomez..."_ I moan.

 _"Querida..."_ He draws out my nickname and spends a blissfully agonizing ten minutes making good use of his tongue.

I pant. _"Mon amour..."_

 _"Eres divina..."_

I cannot take it any longer. _"Gomez!"_ I shriek.

Oh, God, he is going to kill me. And I cannot wait to die with such painful pleasure as this.

He makes his way up to my lips and pins my arms above my head, going straight from gentle and tempting to rough and ready.

"Tish..." He looks into my eyes. "I'm letting you know right now that you are and will forever grow more enchanting to me with every passing second."

"Oh, _I know_." I pull him in to a deeper kiss, and he bites me, I bite back, and soon I can taste a mix of him, and my crimson-coloured blood in his mouth.

He enters me, and I orgasm, taking me away from all of today's unwanted events.

After another hour, he takes me in his arms and I curl up against him, his strong, protective arms around me. For the first time in a while, I feel safe.

It is 12:00 pm the next morning, and I finish bathing. Wrapped in a soft, black towel, I look in the mirror and almost clip my hair up.

But I don't get the chance. I drop the hair clip and scream. I am bleeding, and I see a slice in my collar bone both in the mirror and in actuality. I feel the pain, and it burns. In the mirror, a knife is held to it by a white, gloved hand, but I see nothing like it in reality.

 _"I've missed you, black beauty."_ Dr. Winthrop says.


	7. My Reality Is Fading & Oh God, So Am I

Chapter 5: My Reality is Fading... And Oh God, So Am I

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I scream and back way from the mirror. No, no this cannot be happening. _Not him, please, not him._

I try to scream for Gomez but only blood comes out.

 _So much blood._

Dr. Winthrop catches me and won't release me. He strokes my hair and whispers in my ear, and I think I am going to be physically ill.

I am throwing up blood all over the floor, and struggling but this time, I cannot get away.

I can barely move, I keep trying to scream but I cannot hear even a peep. All I can feel and see is blood.

 _"Shh, shh, shh..."_ Dr. Winthrop moves the hair out of my face and kisses my neck, softly, tenderly, and it makes me sick. _"Come on, black beauty, don't be like that with me, now. You don't want me to get away from you, do you? Soon, we'll finish what I started..."_

I shake my head and more blood escapes, but he wipes it up and holds the knife to my throat.

I am crying, closing my mouth, not wanting anymore blood to come up. The gash on my collar bone hurts so much, and it, too is gushing blood.

Just then, I hear Gomez knock at the door.

 _"Tish?"_

I wonder if he heard me scream. I am desperately hoping he did.

I try to scream again, and this time, it works.

Dr. Winthrop presses the knife harder, it's cold blade sending a shiver through my entire body.

I cry out.

 _"Tish?"_ Gomez's voice sounds worried. _"Tish, open the door!"_

I can't, Dr. Winthrop's hold on me is too tight.

I scream again, tears streaming down my face.

He bangs on the door. _"Morticia!"_ He struggles with the knob and bursts in.

At that exact moment, not a millisecond later, I am released. I fall to the floor, using my hands as a shield so as to not hit my face.

I am freezing, shaking and the towel is barely keeping me covered.

"Oh, Tish..." Gomez puts his robe around me, and takes the towel. He cradles me in his arms, holding me.

I burry my head in his neck, in tears. "Gomez... Gomez... _He was here._ "

"Shh, cara mia. It's alright, now, my darling. I'm here, I won't let anything happen to you." He rubs my back, and pushes the hair out of my face.

I cannot stop shaking. _"He was here."_ Is all I can say.

"Who, my darling? Who was here?"

 _"Dr. Winthrop!"_ I cry. "He was here. And he..." I look at my collar bone. And the gash... is still there.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I am terrified for my only. I notice the gash and immediately lift her up. I set her down on the sink.

"Morticia, your collar..." I touch it, and she winces in pain.

"Gomez, please... please say you believe me."

I nod, what more can I do? "Yes, of course I do. But, Tish..." I grab rubbing alcohol and bandages out of the medicine cabinet. "Oh, my poor darling."

"I'm sorry, Gomez." She cries, her head in her hand. "I'm so sorry."

"No, querida, none of this is your fault." I kiss her pale lips.

She is shivering, and I have to control myself, although I am trembling on the inside.

"Now, darling... this may sting a bit." I warn her.

"Well, then it shouldn't be too bad. But, Gomez, I think we might need to stitch this up. And what will we say if I go to a hospital? How... how will we explain this?"

"I don't know, Tish..." I embrace her, and she cries into my shoulder. "I don't know."

We decide to take her out of the bathroom and I lie her on the bed. Lurch comes upstairs and after I dress her wound, he teaches me how to stitch it up. I wanted to do this for her, I couldn't bear to leave her. I should have never left her.

Lurch leaves and I am about to begin stitching up her gash.

"Gomez... thank you." She manages to say.

I fluff her pillow. "Darling, you are very brave, and very strong. Now, I want you to relax and sit still for me, cara mia."

"Yes, darling." She replies and sits up, sore.

I smile sympathetically at her and begin to stitch up the gash. It pains me to watch her wince like that. I can't do a thing except whisper some words of endearment and plant a kiss on her lips when I can.

Soon, when I get to a very tender spot, I pause. "Alright, querida. Are you ready?"

"Yes, mon diable." She responds.

I smile at the nickname, _my devil_. I have always adored that one. I love whenever she uses _my_ before bestowing upon me one of those many French endearments. I am hers, I will always be hers, forever. I belong to only Morticia, and by God does a fire ignite inside of me when I think of that.

"Please make this painful, darling. It will be better at your hands." Morticia continues.

I nod and kiss her shoulder. "Of course, my dearest. I would do anything for you. All I ask is that you remain still."

My darling, strong Tish takes a deep breath. "Alright, mon amour."

My black angel braces herself, and I continue to stitch up her wound.

She remains perfectly still, barely even breathing.

After about fifteen minutes, I finish the dauting task.

"Comfortable, cara mia?" I ask, adjusting her pillows.

Morticia nods. "Qui, mon cher." She replies.

"Tish, I am sorry but you cannot move your collar too much. I don't want your stitches to come undone."

"Darling..." She brings a cold, pale, delicate hand to my cheek. "I want to talk."

I crawl into the bed next to her, tightly holding her in my arms. "Yes, I think that would be best."

She is showing as little raw emotion as possible, and I know it is because she is truly afraid.

"Gomez... you haven't left my side since we talked about the dreams. I love you, I love you more than I love or will ever love anyone else. But, I'm worried about you."

Morticia is always thinking of others... of me, even at a time like this.

I remember when Morticia was pregnant with Pugsley. The pregnancy was terribly rough. Our boy was a strong one, but I digress.

 _Morticia was in severe pain, and had been throwing up all morning. Not to mention, the weather was pure hell. We were in the middle of a drought._

 _Máma called and was having trouble hanging up a picture frame. I offered to come, but Máma also had wanted to talk to Morticia._

 _Morticia wanted to go and help her mother, even though she was feeling dreadful._

 _I had refused, worried for her health._

 _But all she had to do was look at me with those black eyes. Her voice sounded so wounded and sad when she said my name._

 _I quite literally fell to my knees and ten minutes later, we were driving to my mother-in-law's._

So yes, Morticia is constantly thinking of others. And it is one of the many things I worship that woman for.

"Tish..." I sigh. "You are right, and I'm sorry. I worry about you. Look what happened the one time I wasn't around, even after I made an effort to be there at every moment."

 _"Exactly."_ She takes my hands. "Gomez, you are doing everything you can. But it proves that something could happen to me, whether or not you are around."

"Tish-"

She interjects. " _And_ I promise that I am a fighter, and I won't let anything get away with harming me or the children... let alone get away with harming you."

"I'll destroy whatever did this to you." I have a hot, angry fire in my eyes. Who dared mark up my cara mia?

"I know you want to, Gomez. But I don't think you quite understand."

"What don't I understand?" I ask, concern thickening my accent.

"I-"

It's happening again.

 _I am inside of the bathroom and have just finished showering. I am wrapped in my black towel with my initials embroidered on it._

 _My darling Gomez had gotten my initials engraved in all of the black towels as one of my nineteenth birthday present._

 _I am abo to clip my hair up, but I never get the chance._

 _I see him. I see Dr. Winthrop in the mirror, the predatory whispers and caresses, and the slit in my collar bone, and I feel the sharp blade being pressed to my throat. I try to scream but only blood ever comes up, and I don't think anyone can hear me._

 _I am struggling, but am becoming mostly immobile. This goes on for quite some time, and my throat burns._

 _Gomez is knocking on the door, and I pray he heard me make any kind of noise._

 _The minute mon amour enters, Dr. Winthrop lets me go and winded, I crash to the ground._

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

It was much too soon for me to relive that memory. I feel as though I am going to be sick again, and I grab Gomez's arm, holding back the waves of nausea. When the nausea subsides, Gomez speaks.

 _"I'll kill the bastard!"_ He yells.

"Darling, I don't even know if that was real. I can barely separate reality from unreality at this point."

He embraces me, his fingers in my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Oh, Tish... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I must remain calm. "I see things in mirrors." I begin, stroking his strong arm. Apparitions, delusions, I don't know. But I do know I have been seeing myself with injuries, _severe, life-threatening_ injuries. Sometimes I am in a hospital gown, and there's so much blood. Dr. Winthrop was behind me that day I flew off my stool. Your shoe... for a brief moment looked just like his. My reflection talks to me and so do the hallucinations. And now, this..."

He shakes his head, kissing mine again.

 _"It's as though chaos and pain had a child, and all that child ever wore was red."_ We say, in unison.

There is a long pause, and all I can do is stare up into his eyes. All he can do is stare into mine.

"Gomez..." A crystal tear falls down my cheek, but it is the only one that I will allow to fall.

"Morticia, I am so sorry, my darling." He looks like his world has shattered.

"I saw him, Gomez. I saw Dr. Winthrop in the mirror. And now, it seems as though you did, as well." I am in shock. It's as if I have just seen a Jehovah's Witness convert somebody.

"But... how?" Gomez asks. "I thought you said they fired that monster."

"No, darling, I said I fired him. There's one thing that happened after that memory you saw. Dr. Winthrop chased me up the stairs and I recited a spell. He didn't know what I was doing, it was in Latin. Next thing you know, Dr. Winthrop was on fire. I ran out and no one ever heard from that evil man again. I don't know if I killed him, or if he is dead at all. But I hoped I had destroyed him." I shake my head, leaning on Gomez, propping my neck up. "It appears I was wrong."

"We will get through this, cara mia. I promise you, come heaven or highwater, we will get through this." His words are beautiful and fill me with hope, but these next moments crush that hope like a bug.

 _"Hello, black beauty."_ I hear. I look up, and _Dr. Winthrop has a tight grip on me._

I scream, but _he puts a rough, dry hand around my mouth._

 _"Shh, Morticia, I only want to love you." He kisses me._

"No!" I try to yell, I bite his hand, and oh, how it bleeds.

 _"Bitch!" He yells. "You think you're going to set fire to me that easily?"_

"No, I'm going to finish you off!" I yell and slip out of his grip. I run to the door and try to open it, but it is locked shut.

 _Dr. Winthrop rises out of bed and inches closer, closer, closer. He pins me against the door and forces my arms above my head._

"Go away!" I yell.

 _"Never again." He gives a feral growl and unties Gomez's robe that was tightly wrapped around me._

 _"Cinis pluat, ignis adurat. Anima glacie voluit nocer-."_ I try to yell; my ears are ringing.

 _"Not this time, black beauty." He growls, puts a hand over my mouth briefly and tears off his lab coat. He bites my neck, and gropes me._

I fight, I do. But I can barely move. I keep half reciting the spell but _he kisses me_ , and I cannot pull away.

My world spins out of control and _Dr. Winthrop pulls that blue syringe out of his pocket, filled with blue liquid..._ the blue liquid from those awful dreams.

"Cinis pluat-" Before I can finish, _he jabs the needle into my neck._

I look flushed, I feel sick, so sick. My arms go limp, my entire body does. And then I black out.


	8. The Breaking of the Black Angel

Chapter 6: The Breaking of the Black Angel

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I cannot begin to describe what I have just seen. My cara mia, she was having some sort of struggle... with thin air.

Did she see me try to help her? I tried desperately to control her violent movements but it was of no use. I was pushed out of the way, by a violent, ice cold wind.

That was the last I saw of the incident, as I passed out. But just before I did, I could have sworn I saw a man's shoe, and a pair of long legs.

I am now waking up from I don't know how many minutes of being unconscious. My vision is incredibly blurry, but I fight to see clearer. I am winning this battle, although not without injury.

As I begin to fabricate coherent thoughts, I realize that I am in our bed, pillows under my head and a blanket over me. I feel a bit sick, and desperately try to find Morticia.

I begin to panic, that is, until I feel an ice cold, delicate hand on my forehead.

Morticia is in tears and won't look me in the eyes.

"Tish?" I am finally able to speak. "Morticia, what happened?" I grab her hand.

"Dr. Winthrop happened." She says, her voice barely audible. "I saw him. I don't know how but he was..." she looks around, as if she has gone mad.

But I believe my darling is perfectly sane... madness is something she does not suffer from. Her mind is as sharp as a tac.

She gestures towards the door. "He had me against the wall. Surely you saw the..."

"Tish, the last thing I remember is you fighting with the air. I didn't see another person."

"You mean... you didn't see anyone?" She asked.

"Yes." I nod.

"Well..." she sighs, stoic yet I can see the fear in her black eyes. "It appears it's worse than I thought."

"Tish?"

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Oh god, what if I truly am going mad? The very idea of it... not now, hopefully now ever but especially not now. What happened to me? This... this can't go on. What am I going to do?

"Well, he was here. I swear it."

"Morticia," Gomez takes my hand. "My darling, please. I believe you. I do."

I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. I am relieved that he is alright.

"I believe that you saw him."

I am no longer as relaxed. "But you don't believe he was here?"

He shakes his head. "Querida, I didn't say that. But I didn't see him."

"And?"

"And I'm worried about you."

"About what? About me or my sanity?" I ask, concern giving my voice a harsh edge.

"Tish, I believe you are mentally all there. I've always told you how sharp your mind was."

" _Was_ , Gomez. It appears that my sharp mind isn't just looking its edge, it's becoming softer than a lump of clay."

Gomez holds me. "No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. One could say that-"

Your mind will be sludge. And I can just sit on the sidelines, watching it all happen.

 _Dear. God._

"Gomez, it isn't him, it's me!"

"What?" He asks, confused.

"It isn't him." I shake my head. "My reflection said that my mind would be sludge, and she could just sit on the sidelines watching it all happen."

Gomez puts a concerned hand on my arm. "I'm sorry, am I missing something?" He asks.

"Yes, you are." I reply, standing and pacing around the room like a madwoman. "And so was I, but not anymore. I thought it was Dr. Winthrop and maybe I'm right. But it isn't just him. It's the mirrors, and my reflection, and the blood." I stop walking and turn to him, quick as lightening. "It's all making sense!"

He stands up, noticing the crazed look I must have in my eyes. "What is?" He asks.

"It's..." I sigh and sit back down. "I don't know, but it's something bigger than my mind, or yours. It seems paranormal."

"You think your possessed?" He asks, concern thickening his already prominent accent.

"No. Possibly. I don't know for sure, darling. I don't. But I-"

Something like this has happened before. I remember it. It was when I was once committed to a psych ward after I claimed that I used witchcraft on Dr. Winthrop.

My sister was quite pleased, my parents were devastated.

 _I was gone all summer. During that time, I was locked in some white room. The doctors treated us like animals, from the sane to the heavily mentally unstable. I witnessed people rocking on chairs and talking to the walls. My mind was sharp and it confused everyone as to why I was there._

 _They say everything is confidential, it wasn't. People all through the ward referred to me as "the witch". Well, fine. Those doctors wanted a witch, I gave them one. I made them sick for weeks with a bit of magick._

 _When they claimed it was me, they all lost their jobs and they themselves, were committed._

But I remember the feeling of thinking myself insane. I remember the feeling of not being fully believed. I remember just wanting to leave and-

I need to calm myself down. I need to clear my head.

I manage my slow and methodic breathing. "Gomez, darling, thank you for believing me." I manage to say.

He embraces me and kisses my forehead. "Thank you, _black beauty._ "

I hear his voice. I step away, ready for a fight. "What?"

Gomez comes near me and takes my hand. "I said, thank you, my darling." He says again.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Here, I'll take you to bed."

"Bed? Bed, what time is it?" I ask.

I notice the clock on the wall, and realize it is 10:00 pm... _the next night._

Oh, no.

"Gomez, I..." I walk into the closet and begin to tear it apart, desperately searching for my cloak.

 _"Tish, what on earth?"_ My concerned husband takes after me.

I am bent, searching through article upon article of clothing to find it.

Little do I know, my poor, darling husband is right behind me.

I pop up and he grabs me from behind, lovingly. But I am startled, and I gasp.

"Morticia, please, darling, calm down." He pleads, in a soothing tone of voice.

My hand comes up and finds its way to Gomez's cheek, stroking it. This is relaxing me for the moment, but it won't for long.

I break the embrace and face him. It breaks me when I do, the worried expression he has on his face... never have I seen him look so afraid.

"I can't, Gomez." I shake my head. "I can't."

"Morticia, I beg of you, come to bed. We _will_ get through this-"

"No!" I snap. "No, not while neither of us know what _this_ is. I need answers, and I need them now." I look him directly in the eyes. "I have patience for many things, Gomez. I have patience for this family, I have patience for waiting, I have patience for everything most people do not. But I do _I do not, I_ _ **will not**_ _,_ have patience with my sanity."

He puts a hand on my arm, and nods, trying to understand. "Is there anything I can do for my querida?" He asks.

I kiss him. "Yes. Help me find my cloak."

 _"What?"_ He asks, taken aback.

I walk about the closet, in a frenzy. "My cloak, darling. It appears I've lost it."

"Where are you going?" He asks.

"I-" I would have responded, then. I would have. But I am unable to. As if by magic, my cloak appears to my eyes behind Gomez, hanging there as if it were doing that mere seconds ago.

I grab it, and slip the hood over my head. I am in my nightgown. It has a deep V-neck and is blacker than some of my others. It is my absolute favorite, very tight and figure-hugging. It has witch-symbols and gothic designs all over it, and goes perfectly with my velvet cloak and the three-and-a-half-inch high heels I have just slipped on.

I race out of the closet and try to open the door, but I am pushing and to get out, I have to pull.

Gomez comes up behind me and holds me in his arms. He slips off my hood and begins to stroke my hair.

"Darling... please. Where are you going?"

My breathing starts off slow, but becomes increasingly fast, and heavy. "To the graveyard." I reply.

"But, Tish, I don't see why-"

"Gomez, I don't know. But I have always found peace of mind there, ever since that first night..." My voice trails off as I reminisce.

Gomez nods and kisses my hand. "You grow more enchanting by the second." He says to me.

"And you steal my heart every time I look into those eyes that seem to become more alluring each time I look into them." I respond.

Gomez smiles and kisses me up to my neck. "I'll get my coat."

I shake my head. "No, mon amour, this is something I must do alone."

"Cara mia, you're not..." He appears to be holding his tongue, and I have a feeling I know what he is going to say. "In the right frame of mind." He says and does not let go of me.

That tears it. Goddamit, he's right. "I know, that's why I'm going. Because perhaps there, I will be." I wiggle free from his strong and loving embrace, determined, and I slip my hood back on.

"Morticia..." I see tears welling up in his dark eyes. "What if... I would never forgive myself if..." He cannot bear to even say it, I can tell.

I cup his cheeks, and he wraps his hands around my waist. "My love, listen to me. I will be alright. _It's going. To be. Alright._ But I have to go, I'll be back shortly."

I kiss his tears that have yet to fall, away and he takes me in his arms and Frenches me, passionately.

I need this, I want this, but right now, I have to leave this.

"Mmm... if I am not back in an hour, come looking for me." I say and gently remove his hands from my waist.

"Carita, I will. Come heaven or highwater, I will." Gomez replies.

I smile, he needs it. "Rest, darling, now, alright?"

"Not a chance, not until your safe in my arms."

"Alright, then. You'll have me against your chest at midnight." I pull on the door and step out.

The door screams, as if it, too, is against my leaving like I have done so many times before.

I do not know what I am looking for, if anything at all. But I need rest, assurance that I am not mad. And oh, my God, am I in trouble if I am. Then again, I may be in just as much trouble if I am not. There is sometimes a cure for madness, but what about a cure for phycological torture and paranormality?

I soundlessly walk throughout the house, opening my little Wednesday's and Pugsley's doors and blowing them a goodnight kiss before continuing on my way down the stairs.

I am now at the back door. I grip the old, rusty knob and step outside into the chilly, black night.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

What am I going to do? I pace around the spacious room, which feels one hundred times its normal size, without my darling Tish.

She has gone for her late-night walks in the cemetery many a time. But never before have I felt so incredibly worried for her safety. It infuriates me that whatever is happening has made me and my Tish prisoners in our own estate.

I don't want to leave this room, I don't know if I can. I feel utterly powerless. Who am I going to call? Thing? The children? No, because they do not need to be burdened with this.

I should be the strong one, holding her hand and leading her through the graveyard she probably knows better than our own home. But instead, she was the one who kissed away my tears and promised me she would be here soon.

I know, I know I have some dramatic tendencies, but I am a passionate man. What can I say? For her... I would die. I would kill, even if she says she can handle it. So why, _why_ when she tells me to sit dormant, do I do just that?

Because I am a slave for that woman, that's why. Because all Morticia has to do is request I jump and my response will be a kiss and, _how high?_

I know she needs it, to be alone with her thoughts. But I'd much prefer her to be here, in my arms. I can help her. I can pour her a nice, cool glass of red wine, sit her in my lap and massage her temples while she thinks. She is safe, and she can ponder what is going on.

But that would not work. She wishes to be _alone_ with her thoughts, _alone_ being the key word.

I do not take it very personally, I understand as much as I can. Rather, I am worrying to no end about that woman right now.

One must understand, I have no life without Morticia. Knowing she is mine, and that I can hold her in my arms every night is my oxygen. She is my soul reason for breathing.

Tish is a strong woman, stronger than any woman I have ever known. But _this_...

Morticia always has to be in control of one thing: her mind. I can tell she is afraid she is losing that. Without her wits, she would a wisp of what she is with them. I know that for a fact.

I know I have to let her go, I know I just did and I cannot go back in time and change that now, even if I wanted to. But so help me, God, will I be counting down the milliseconds until the clock strikes twelve.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

The night is as quiet as the grave. I see no signs of life, hear not a sound convincing me otherwise. It is as peaceful as it can get.

Or at least... it used to be.

I used to be able to come to this graveyard, and sit on the hundred-year-old stone couch, and reminisce or overthink the events of the previous day. I had no fear of being watched or followed... or judged.

I do not crave acceptance, I could care less if I have it or not. But it is nice when I am.

Gomez never judges me, loves me with everything he is, as I do, him. But there is something about being alone, at night. I never felt like I was being watched. I never felt like that, until now.

I begin to hear footsteps behind me, but when I turn there is nothing. And the noise stops.

However, the feeling of being followed does not subside.

I keep walking, my pace not increasing (quite the opposite of my pulse). I am determined not to let this thing, or myself, affect my serenity.

However, it turns from wonderful to worrisome once more when I trip over a rock that was never there before.

I fall down and nearly rip my cloak. However, I do not, and with closer examination, I realize that it was not a rock at all that I tripped on. It was a small... vile, with a needle attached to it. _Full of blue liquid._

I grab the vile and begin to run, but I do not know just how far I have walked. I let my feet decide where to go, and ten minutes later, I come the door of the mausoleum.

I lean against it, out of breath. Once I do catch my breath again, I no longer have to rely on the mausoleum for stability and begin to survey my location.

 _Let's think rationally, Morticia. Come on, now. If you are at the mausoleum, home should be the opposite direction. That would be-_

I never get the chance to finish my thoughts. I am grabbed from behind by hands that aren't my husbands.

I let out a scream and kick back but the arms around me tighten. _"Let me go!"_ I yell and struggle against my captour.

"No, black beauty. Not this time."

These arms feel real, they feel more real than all of my recent experiences in my mind.

 _"Go away, go away, go away, go away."_ I squeeze my eyes shut and scream. _Louder, louder._ My mind will not do this to me, hell if it will.

Damn it, it isn't working! He's here and his dry, cold hand is covering my mouth, preventing my desperate cries from escaping my lips.

A hand strokes my hair.

 _No. No. No. No!_ I bite down on his hand as hard as I can and it bleeds. Oh, how, it _bleeds_. I spin around and grab the vile and jab it into his neck.

He screams and goes down. Now I know this is real, it has to be. If it wasn't, Dr. Winthrop would not have gone down the way he did.

I run, my hood flying off of my head but my cloak remaining in fact. I don't care, I have to get away.

I see the mansion, finally, I do. But before I can even come close to the door, I am grabbed once again, this time... by the gloved hand of a woman.

 _"No!"_ I cry. The woman is incredibly strong and kicks the back of my knees.

I am kicked to the ground and whilst still struggling, my hands are bound. The hand pinches my neck, on a very sensitive nerve.

A woman, about five foot seven and very pale, almost jaundice, steps out in front of me. She is not thin, but not large, perhaps around one hundred and forty-five pounds. She is bald, and is wearing black, pointed high heels, black leather gloves and a white lab coat. She holds in her hand, a vile, with the same blue liquid I used to disable Dr. Winthrop.

The woman smiles down at me, wickedly. "Morticia Addams, is it? You're a beautiful girl, you really are."

I struggle, but I cannot stand. "Leave. _Now_."

It is 11:50 pm, I know by the watch the woman is wearing. If I can buy enough time, Gomez can save me. I just need to buy myself ten minutes. _Just. Ten. Minutes._

"No, dear. I am afraid I can't do that."

"What do you want from me?" I ask, straightening my back.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"My sanity?"

She chuckles. "No, dear. I must say, for water that was meant to make you weak, you had some rather _bizarre_ side effects."

 _"Water...?"_ I think back to that day in Nurse Daughtry's office. I was dehydrated, and Gomez requested she give me water... oh, dear.

"Yes, Nurse Daughtry is indeed one of my _best_ employees. What a sweet woman, so perky."

I feel sick, this is all too overwhelming. But it is 11:53, so all I need to buy is seven precious minutes.

"That couldn't have all been in my mind. What about the gash?"

The strange woman clicks her teeth and shakes her head. "Oh, but it was. And a gash, you say? Oh, you mean _that_?" She points to my healing wound. "You did that, honey. Nobody else."

I hear footsteps behind me.

The woman looks up and smiles. "Dr. Winthrop." She addresses the evil doctor, and claps her hands, slowly. _"You're late."_

"I'm sorry." His voice is huskier than I remember.

"No, I'm sorry. This is your second offense. If you try for a third, I am going to have to terminate you."

"No!" Dr. Winthrop begs. "No, no need for that. I am terribly sorry, doctor. It was that _bitch_." He spits in my direction, but he misses me completely, due to his terrible aim. "She stabbed me." He throws the vile to the woman.

"Ah, I see." She raises her eyebrow at me. Her eyebrows are drawn on well, in black. "Well done, my dear girl."

 _"What?"_ Dr. Winthrop asks.

"She's a smart one. We could use her once we treat her."

I do not even stop to wonder what she meant by, treat me, but I check the time again. 11:56. _Four minutes._

The female doctor shakes her head. "Grab her and hold her down." She orders Dr. Winthrop.

 _"Don't come near me!"_ I yell.

He ignores me, grabs me and holds me down while the female doctor inches closer to me.

She grips my chin, and looking directly into my eyes, as if waiting for the darkness to leave them, she jabs the needle into my neck. Only this time, it is all real.

As my eyes shut, and my world becomes foggy... _I hear the clock strike midnight._


	9. The Clock Struck Midnight

**_Chapter 6 has been updated, and it is crucial to the story. Do not read on if the updated version of Chapter 6 is unread. Thank you for reading and for all the support! Enjoy!_**

Chapter 7: The Clock Struck Midnight. But I Wear Not, the Rags.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Twelve midnight. Thank God. I do not exaggerate, I did indeed count down the seconds until the clock struck midnight.

I run to the closet and dig through my side of it, looking for my black trench coat. I would not need it, but I see that it is pouring rain outside. My blood begins to boil at the thought of carrying my querida into the house, and getting her into a hot shower... and getting in there with her.

I let my thoughts run wild as I slip my shoes on. Most people call them fantasies. I do not. A fantasy is something -to me, anyways- unreal, that most likely won't happen. Well, every indecent thought I have has indeed happened. There is no part of my darling black angel's body my lips haven't touched. That is no fantasy, it's a very real and beautiful fact.

I race out of the house, as quiet as I can be, as my darling little rascals, Wednesday and Pugsley are asleep.

I walk out of the house, and I am greeted by a torrential downpour.

The wind screams, and the leaves on the trees shake violently. Perfect for Morticia.

Well, almost perfect.

The wind pushes me forward, and if it can do that to me, imagine what it could do to her. She is indeed curvy, but she is only one hundred thirty-five pounds.

"Morticia!" I call over the howling wind. I walk on, calling her name out as I do.

What starts off as five minutes of searching, slowly turns into an hour.

By now, the storm has turned worse, and a thin tree has fallen over.

I no longer want her out here on her own, my worry has increased from ten to one hundred, FAST.

"Tish!" I call, louder than the last time, which was about a minute and a half ago. "Carita!"

I do not know what to do, it's been two hours now and the storm intensifies. I am now inside of the mausoleum, praying she is here. I can no longer so much as SEE home.

"Morticia!" My voice reverberates off the mausoleum's two hundred-year-old walls.

I hear no response, and I am almost paralyzed with fear.

I try once more, and when I get no response yet again, I step out into the violent, sea of blackness. It is a raging alcoholic on its fortieth bottle of wine. That is as terrible as I can describe it.

I walk around the mausoleum, chilled to the bone. "Tish-"

Lightning flashes before my eyes, and next thing I know, I am knocked to the ground. I hit my head on the rough ground, and darkness swirls around my mind until it envelopes it entirely.

I awaken three hours later, to the bright sun shining down on me.

My blurry vision becomes clearer, and I feel a slight amount of dried blood on my head.

I curse my entire being for not fighting hard enough and finding my dark bride. But where in the hell could she be, I've looked everywhere!

Defeated, concerned and hopeless, I venture back into the house to phone Máma. Lord knows she has the world's keenest senses.

Lurch is by the door, holding Wednesday and Pugsley in his arms.

"Mr. Addams... where-"

"Morticia is missing, Lurch. I must phone Máma and put a search party together."

Lurch shakes his head, afraid. "M-missing?"

I nod. "Yes, Lurch. Do you think the children can help find her?"

Pugsley and Wednesday nod.

"I'll take the shallow graves." Wednesday replies.

I smile and kiss her cheek. "Thank you, my darling."

"And I'll search the unmarked abandoned well!" Pugsley pipes up. It's his favorite place, that well. Considering how many times his elder sister hid him there, it's practically his second home.

I pat my five-year-old son's hand. "Thank you, my dear boy." I turn to Lurch, worry in my eyes. "You search the caves."

Lurch groans and squeezes my shoulder, wearing a sympathetic expression.

We disperse, and I run into the kitchen to phone my mother-in-law. Quickly, I dial her telephone number.

Before I have a chance to hear the second ring, Esmeralda answers.

"Hello, Ms. Frump speaking. Don't ask my last name, unless we've met or you're a danger, you aren't getting it." Yep. That's Máma.

"Hello, Máma." I hope the severe urgency in my voice is more than audible. "Are you available?"

"Who wants to know?" Máma asks.

I should be taken aback, but I am not. Esmeralda's terrible with vocal recognition. "It's Gomez, Máma."

"Gomez..." She pauses. "Gomez who?"

I roll my eyes, not in the mood. I don't have much time before I lose my sanity. "Gomez Addams. Gomez, your son-in-law. I married your daughter eleven years ago, I am the father of your grandchildren, I-"

There is a long pause.

"I pay for your dry-cleaning." I finish.

"Oh, Gomez!" She chuckles, then it comes to an abrupt stop. "What's the trouble, son? You sound distressed."

"I am. Máma, Morticia is missing." I say.

"You sure she didn't leave you for the plumber?"

I don't know where the hell that came from. "Pardon?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gomez. For a minute there, I thought I was talking to my cousin, Hubert. Disregard the last sentence. I just woke up and I haven't had my henbane tea yet." She explains.

I become more frantic. "Well, you're going to have to do without it, Máma. It's an emergency. I fear something terrible has happened to her."

Máma inhales, sharply. "I'll be over in two shakes of a dragon's tail. Do you have Lurch and the children looking for my daughter?"

"Good, wonderful, and yes. Now, you search the-" I stop talking when I realize she has hung up, and I take that as my cue to continue looking for my Tish.

We had been searching for hours, and it was nearing lunch-time. Still, I am determined. So, I send Lurch inside to feed the children lunch (against their both very vocal and physical protests) and Esmeralda and I continue to search.

I sit in the middle of the graveyard, at the stone bench, my head in my hands. I am thinking of where to look next. Hell, I even snuck onto Judge George Womack's property to find her, but it was all for naught.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and pray it is Morticia. But I look up and see only Esmeralda.

I sigh. "I know, Esmeralda. I am just thinking of where to look."

She shakes her head. "Damn. You only call me that when you're really upset."

"Well, how can I be anything else?" I ask. "My wife is gone and no one can find her, despite all of our efforts! What if...?" I can't even bring myself to say, what if that all wasn't in our minds?

"I know." She then pulls me to my feet and hands me a small, water-worn piece of paper. "I'm worried to. But get your head outta the sand for a minute and read this, won't you?"

Máma is nothing if not blunt. "Yes, Máma." I oblige and take the paper.

As my eyes study the barely legible chicken-scratch, my breathing becomes labored. My eyes grow wide with fear, and anticipation is gnawing at me, clawing its way through my entire anxious being. I freeze.

We warned you.

-Dr. Dimentia Nightshade, Iridis Inc.

Oh. Hell. No.

Iridis? Doesn't that mean rainbow in Latin? And warned me? Warned me how? When? Well, whoever this is that kidnapped my Morticia... blood will spill, and spill soon. NOW.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I awake in what appears to be the back of a U-Haul.

Upon further examination, I realize that my hands are still bound, and there is a stabbing pain in my neck where I was stabbed by that needle... by that doctor.

It is dark, my only source of light coming from the crack in the entrance to the truck. It tells me that it is daylight, probably close to eleven o' clock. Well, that leaves me with thoughts that violently clash with each other.

Good. They'll be looking for me.

Not good. I don't even know where I am. So, how will they?

I do not know how long we have been driving, but I do know it is long enough to make my neck stiff as a board. And with each pothole the truck hits, I flop to the side.

Although weak, I inch closer to the side of the truck, so I will have something to lean against. I do not care how they treat me. I am not cattle being transported to the slaughter.

I lean against the wall once I do reach it, and close my eyes, getting my bearings.

I do not get much of a chance, though. I hear scratching.

Rats? No, no it can't be. Shortly after the scratching, comes a new noise. Meowing.

I look around, feeling terrible that they shoved a poor cat in here with me.

My eyes are strained as I try to find the creature, but eventually, my eyes land on a small ball of black fur.

I click my teeth, and its little head pops up. I see that it's eyes are an unusual colour... bright red.

I love it. This cat is giving me memories of my darling Kitty Cat, my now thirteen-year-old West African Lion that I raised from infancy. Although this cat looks nothing like Kitty, it is touching my heart in a spot reserved for the misunderstood creatures of the world.

I repeat the noise, and it slowly crawls over to me.

I am on my knees, but I allow for a bit of space and the animal (who looks no more than a year old) curls up into my lap.

Fate's funny like that. Here I am, alone and afraid, confused and confined. But yet, I have a darling creature in my lap which I relate to on a personal level. This cat was me in my position before I was, so perhaps it can teach me how to handle it. Or I, it.

"I'm going to call you Hernus." I whisper. "After my plant."

I count each time the sun rises and sets, and I notice that five days go by.

I cannot believe how utterly attached I have gotten to this animal. One would not think that I have a soft spot for these little (oh, how the word disgusts me) cute, balls of fluff. But I really do, especially this one.

It is evening on the fifth day now, and Hernus has fallen asleep in my lap.

I am about to doze off as well, when a flash of light burns me and startles the kitten in my arms.

It meows, agitated and I hiss.

The female doctor has black frame glasses on now, and instructs me to step out of the truck.

"Or what? You'll drug me again?" I ask, my voice, obviously sounding tired.

"No. But I could always have Dr. Winthrop come and-"

An evil, evil woman. "No." I say, my voice harsh and cold as ice. "There is no need for that."

She smiles, quite pleased with herself.

I click my teeth and cock my head, leading Hernus to jump off of me.

I force myself up, and it is quite painful.

I walk out of the truck, careful not to give the doctor the satisfaction of me falling.

She claps, slowly and Dr. Winthrop comes over.

"You lied to me." I state.

She shakes her head. "No, he wanted to fuck you. I said if you didn't listen, he could." She grips my chin. "But you're a good girl."

"You don't know anything about me." I snap.

"I know plenty." She folds her hands and shifts her eyes towards Dr. Winthrop. "Take the cat."

My heart sinks. "What are you going to do?" I ask, tired but trying not to show the concern in my voice.

Dr. Winthrop nods. "Yes, Dr. Nightshade."

Ah, so _that's_ her name.

She motions to the cat and Dr. Winthrop grabs it, it mews.

Dr. Nightshade must have heard the worry in my voice. "Relax, it's for my niece, Rose." She waves a dismissive hand.

I raise my eyebrow. "You have a heart?"

Dr. Nightshade smirks. "Somewhat."

Dr. Winthrop emerges from the truck with a struggling Hernus. "By the way, black beauty, his name is Terrence."

"Watchful scavenger." I reply.

"Pardon?" Dr. Winthrop asks.

"The name, Terrence. It means watchful scavenger."

"Did you drug her again?" He asks Dr. Nightshade.

"Soon, but not yet." She replies and takes -I'm still calling it Hernus- from Dr. Winthrop. "Grab her and lead her inside." She instructs him.

Dr. Winthrop does as he is told and grabs me.

As we walk toward the iron gate, I study our location. There are no buildings or houses for miles, I see none at all. The grass is brown, and the gate has large letters on the top that read, Iridis Inc.

The building itself is massive, and looks like a larger version of the mental hospital I was committed to nearly fifteen years ago.

It is white, and has hardly any windows, for a building of its size. But there are bars on almost all of them. The roofs are all square, and flat. Nothing slanted... I wonder why.

Smoke comes out of the chimney, or... I believe it is smoke. It smells like the mix of chemicals and death.

We arrive at the double doors, which open only to the fingerprint scan of Dr. Nightshade.

The hallway is long, and white. Throughout the building, are people in goggles and lab coats. There are test tubes with different liquids, human remains and different needles and hospital torture-devices being transported on carts to God-knows-where.

They take me down the right hallway, which is long, white, and empty. The lead me through a door that's sign reads, Staff Only, and up several flights of stairs and to a hall identical to the last.

We go through a grey door that has, Patients and Inmates, engraved in chicken-scratch in it. The room is unusual, and instills fear in my heart.

There is a large cage taking up most of the white hospital-room's space. The cage is the size of the average middle-class bedroom. However, it does not look at all welcoming.

I do not get much time to fully understand just where I am, because in one swift move, my binds are cut and I am shoved into the large cage.

The door is shut, with the parting words of Dr. Nightshade, "I'll see you later, my pet."

I crawl to the middle of the cage, and sit down, surveying my surroundings.

There are thick, iron bars, ensuring I have no way of escape. There is at the top of this cage, connected to the ceiling, with the probable ability to hoist it into the air. The cage has no furniture, but does have a flashlight, the only source of light in the cage. And there is a large, black cover over the cage, we have no way of seeing out of it.

My eyes widen, and my breathing slows. There are four pairs of eyes, staring intently at me.


	10. Declaration of War

Chapter 8: Declaration of War

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

After a long talk with Máma, I came to the conclusion that this Dr. Dimentia Nightshade kidnapped my querida. She runs Iridis Inc., and took Morticia because I did not heed her warning. We do not know what that warning was, but it was big enough to put Morticia's life on the line.

That is not satisfactory. Not at all. I _will_ get Morticia back. Over my dead body, will they hurt her. And even then, I will stop at nothing to make sure she survives, and that I get her back.

I decided to recruit my old friends, and my current best friend, he is like a brother to me. I haven't seen him in a year, but Enrique and I talk as often as we can.

I have not seen the rest of our _crew_ , as we used to call it, in quite some time. However, they were all in my bachelor party. Good friends of mine from high school on, they were.

Enrique and I made a plan to meet at his house, about an hour away from Mockrage, in Rainfeild. He lives on a hill, like us. His house is around eight thousand square feet, and he lives on his own. Enrique is a great catch, I have always wondered why he is unmarried.

He, by now, should have called the crew and told them to meet with us.

Tomorrow at three o' clock, we decided would be best.

But I will not sit dormant and wait. No, I shall not submit. I shall conquer, I shall rise. My name is Gomez Addams, and I have seen evil. I have seen horror. I have seen the unholy maggots, which feast in the dark recesses of the human soul. And although I have never seen Iridis Inc., they are not prepared for the wrath of Gomez Addams. Hell has no fury like that of Mr. Morticia Addams.

I phoned Josh, and Hailie. Hailie has been Morticia's best friend since her ninth-grade year, and Josh is also a close friend of hers.

Josh, I've learned, is an expert hacker. He lives in the next town over, in Bluebed. He is Morticia's opposite in the sense that he is upbeat, and loves hipster fashion. He is, as he puts it, "so gay, the rainbow bows down to his homosexual superiority." I actually have taken a liking to Josh, as my family is very open-minded. We really do not care who or what you are, so long as you never subdue us.

Hailie lives not far from him, in an apartment in the city. She is an artist, and living with her now twelve-year-old daughter, Victoria. However, she is away at an elite preforming arts camp for the month. So, Hailie needn't worry about a babysitter.

I spend the rest of the day checking and re-checking the arrangements, and still searching for my querida. I know she isn't here, but I feel better knowing I am doing everything in my power to get her back. The only trouble is that everything in my power never feels like enough.

I have been looking after Kitty for Tish, these past five days.

We have a room for Kitty in the basement, he loves it down there. But he knows Morticia is gone, and refuses to do anything but sleep in the master bedroom with me, in Morticia's spot.

It works out. The bed feels just as empty, but at night, when I am asleep, I can pretend she lies next to me, and not Kitty (no offense).

It is nightfall, and it pisses me off that there is another raging storm outside that Morticia doesn't get to see, because for some godforsaken reason, she is a prisoner to a corporation I have never even heard of.

I stroke Kitty, who has been making pained, meowing sounds ever since he realized Morticia was gone. The petting seems to help, though.

I take my cigar out of my mouth and put it out. "Well, Kitty," I sigh. "At least one of us is happy."

Kitty raises his eyebrow. Incredible senses, that animal has.

"Go to sleep." I say, tenderly.

I swear I never thought lions could cry. But if they can, this one is.

"I know, I know." I click my teeth and he curls up next to me. I embrace him. "I miss her too. Your mother's coming home soon, I promise."

Kitty seems to calm down, and soon I can tell he is asleep.

I do not want to sleep, as I am anxiously awaiting morning. But, I try my best to at the very least, give a passing glance at the sandman, should we cross paths. We should, I know we have to. I have to be well-rested for a better chance at saving my black angel.

So, I try my best to think of Tish, and what she would do if she were here. She is the glue that keeps this family together, I admit that right now. She is the true head of the family, and now she is gone. Every morning, I tip my hat to that woman but now I appreciate her even more than I did.

Soon, though, I fall to sleep. But it is not restful.

Morticia is running down a long corridor, a rusty, golden key in her hand. She is wearing that damned hospital gown, and barefoot. She is perspiring, and can hear footsteps behind her.

She opens the doors and screams of _No!_ and _You'll pay for this!_ can be heard as she presses a large, red button.

An alarm goes off and every inmate mobile breaks free of their prisons. She continues to run, and as she gets closer to... something, gunfire, _loud_ gunfire is heard.

Finally, she stops. And... blood. Her blood, everywhere. So much blood. I can't see a blasted thing through the crimson liquid.

And I awaken.

I have an hour and a half before I have to meet Enrique at his house, 237 Rainred Rd., so I decide to check in with Máma. I have news for her.

I walk into the kitchen, and she is preparing lunch for the children. It is quite nice having her around more, especially now. "Máma, I-"

"Hand me that rat tail, Gomez." Esmeralda interjects.

"Alright." I pick up the tail out of a jar and hand it to her. I didn't even know we bought that. "Now, Máma-"

"And the salt." She interrupts once more.

I nod. "Yes, Máma." I say, and hand over the salt. "Now, I must tell you-"

"Oh, and that newts eye." She reaches out her hand.

I put the eye in her hand and there is annoyance in my voice when the next sentence comes out. _"Now, Máma, I really must-"_

" _And_ that-"

 _"Esmeralda!"_ I interrupt.

 _"Well."_ She shakes her head, seemingly offended at my raised voice. " _What_ , is so important that you had to interrupt me three times?"

"Three times-" I sigh, and shake my head. "Máma, you can't stay here."

 _"Oh, please."_ Máma snaps her teeth. "If I weren't here right now, you would be losing your mind. _You know it and I know it._ "

"That isn't what I mean." I begin. "I've decided that I don't believe it is safe for you, or the children here."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about Iridis. This organization knows where we live. I don't want them hurting you or anyone else in this family any more than they already have." I explain.

"What? Gomez, just because I'm in my..." She paused and counts on her fingers; her eyes widen as she counts off the decades in her head. "EARLY fifties, doesn't mean that I can't throw down with the best of 'em."

I nod and pat her shoulder, gently. "Máma, of course you can. You've nearly taken me down quite a few times."

"I did once."

"I let you win." I say. Perhaps, today, she'll accept that-

"In your dreams, muscle-man. I knocked you on your ass fair and square."

"Lies." I say, chuckling, lightly. Then, the conversation gets serious once more. "Máma, they could send an army. You, all alone, protecting two children, against an _army_?"

"Gomez, you have enough money to buy me the air force, we're fine. Pugsley's fine. Wednesday's fine. I'm fine." She stops cooking, and I see her begin to shake. "Morticia's..." She cries. "Morticia's fine."

I embrace her. "She will be, Máma. I promise you, I love her more than anyone or anything in this world. _I will not_ let anyone harm her. So help me God, they are going to pay for what they did."

Máma breaks the hug and cups my cheeks, reaching up as she is only five foot four in her heels. "You're a wonderful husband, Gomez."

"Thank you. I know you care about this family. And I am only trying to protect you."

She nods. "Then, we will go. Where?"

"You'll be staying with Josh and Hailie, over at his house. Josh will work on hacking the system and tracking Iridis. Enrique bought me a cellphone to stay in touch with you all."

She nods. "I love you, Gomez. And we'll leave as soon as ordered."

"By tonight."

"Tonight, it is, then." She resumes cooking after wiping her tears with her palm.

I walk towards the front door.

"Gomez!" Esmeralda calls.

I turn. "Yes, Máma?"

She gives a bittersweet smile. "Go kick some ass."

I smile at her. "I'll shove their dicks so far down their throats that they'll wish all I did was kick their ass."

Esmeralda pumps her fist. "And I'll be there in spirit." She pauses, then asks, "You're gonna kill, aren't you?"

I open the door, but before I step out, I speak. "For Morticia, yes. I will, and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of making those fuckers pay."

She claps and hollers, and I exit.

I hop into the car and watch Thing, Lurch and the children wave goodbye out the window while I pull out of the driveway.

For myself, I can fight. For Tish, I can kill.

And I will.

I arrive at 237 Rainred Rd., and I step out of the car.

Enrique and I have different tastes, but his house is large and encompasses his likes perfectly.

It is large, and white. It has dark brown, wooden double doors with black, circular door-knockers. The windows are massive and all have brown blinds or dark coloured curtains. His favourite colour is deep purple, and that is evident, as that is the colour of his third car. That would be a Tesla he had specially painted.

His front gardens are lavish. He has a golden fountain in the front, and out of it, pours blood (he claims it is water made to look like blood, but I know better). He has bushes carves into unusual shapes and a ruby bench covered by two large apple trees that give it the perfect amount of shade. Enrique says the apples are not poisonous, but explain why I was sick for three days after I picked one? If not for Morticia's henbane tea, I would have been reeling for at least another week.

I approach the door and knock, three times. I always do that, it's how he knows it is me.

After about two minutes, Enrique opens the door.

He is not dressed in his normal attire. Typically, he wears grey or black pinstriped suits, but now, he looks ready for combat. He is six foot one, an inch shorter than I. He wears a black, worn, badass jacket and a thin white shirt, showing off his six-pack that he has always been very proud of. He says I'm the only one he doesn't brag to because he can't. Enrique also has dark brown eyes, and thick, black, wavy hair. He has olive skin, but is a bit tanner than I am. He wears black pants, but they are very moveable, and brown boots. Back in my cad days, he was the one I went woman-shopping with. I knew that if one of us couldn't get a lady, the other could.

"Enrique!" I playfully slap him on the back.

Enrique takes my hand and embraces me. "Gomez, mi amigo! It's so good to see you again. Although, I must say, I am terribly sorry for the circumstances."

I enter and close the door behind me. "As am I." I hang my coat on the tall, black coat rack.

One can tell by my old friend's house that he wants for nothing. He owns a multi-million-dollar corporation. It is impossible to tell he has almost destitute roots.

He has white porcelain or glass tile floors, and burgundy walls. There is a grand, white flight of stairs before the door, with two, white gargoyle statues on either side of the railings. He, too, is a fan of collecting weaponry or instruments of persuasion, as we call them. Lining his walls are knives, rifles, rapiers, axes and more.

He leads me through the house, which looks like the spawn of the Queen of England and Dracula, with a splash of modernity.

I am lead to the den, which has a dark brown, wooden floor and crimson-coloured walls with intricate, black, gothic designs on them. The window is concealed from the world by deep brown blinds. And by the back wall, is a black, velvet couch. There are more weapons along the walls, and there is a black marble coffee table, a flat screen television and renaissance artifacts galore with a couple elegant chairs, strategically placed so that they are not thick as thieves, but not as distant as a couple who is only married to be married.

"Crew, remember Gomez?" Enrique takes a cigar off of the coffee table and slaps my back.

The crew cheers.

"Gomez, long time, no see!" Santiago. I haven't seen him in three years. He is six foot, and strong with nearly black eyes. He has wavy, jet black hair. He is thirty, and has olive skin. I see a theme occurring here, as he also is dressed in what I consider to be combat attire. Santiago wears black jeans, a black shirt and black combat-hiking boots.

One must remember, these men do not normally dress this way.

"Santiago, how are you, old man?" I am trying to be light, but I break inside.

"Better than you!"

Enrique squeezes my shoulders. "Go easy on him, bastard. Morticia is missing."

Santiago bows his head. "I know, I know. I truly am sorry." He says to me.

Enrique wordlessly offers me an already lit cigar and I take it, without a second thought.

"We've missed you." Dantè puts his arm around who I presume is the girlfriend of three years now. Honestly, my father would have backhanded me for waiting so long to propose.

Danté is five foot ten, with brown eyes, black hair, down to his shoulders and pale skin. He is skinny, but not scrawny and has a hell of a lot of tattoos, and a hell of a lot of bad decisions under his belt. He wears a shark tooth necklace, a white shirt and black pants and boots.

Acid, is his girlfriend. She is two years older than Dantè, at thirty. She is the same height as he, and equally as pale. She is lithe, with wavy, light purple hair, down to her shoulders and electric blue eyes. Her entire body, minus her neck and head, is adorned with tattoos. She has lip piercings and ear piercings. She wears black leggings-pants, a white tank and a black leather jacket. There is a knife-holder wrapped around her thigh.

"Yea, where the hell have you been?" asks Juan Diego.

He is thirty-two, the oldest and five-eleven, and made of muscle with light brown eyes. He is tan, and has chocolate brown hair down to his shoulders that he typically wears in what is referred to as a "man-bun". He wears blue jeans, a white, low cut V-neck shirt with brown boots.

"With my wife." I say, making him jealous. I've missed the brotherly banter between my friends and I.

"Oh, so is she more important than us?" He asks, in mock offense.

I take a puff of my cigar. "Oh, yes. More important than anyone."

"Even-"

 _"Don't."_ I say.

Santiago pipes up. "He's still...?"

" _M.I.A.?_ Yes, he is." I reply. I know they are referring to Fester.

I scan the room, taking a good look at it. I love that everyone I trust is-

 _Oh, no._

Regina Everlove walks into the living room. _Not her._

My fists clench and I extinguish my cigar. _"What in the hell is she doing here?"_ I ask, upset.

Enrique puts his hands up. "Gomez, we need her. She has inside information-"

 _"Inside information, my ass, do you know what she did?"_ I know he does, I told him.

Regina Everlove tried to kidnap Wednesday from our own backyard three years ago, and if it weren't for Morticia, she would have succeeded.

 _I was indoors, and Morticia noticed Regina grabbing a struggling Wednesday._

 _She grabbed what she had, which was cable-wire (Pugsley had been playing with it earlier) and choked the living hell out of her until she released her and ran off._

 _We alerted the authorities. They thought we had made the girl up, as nobody could identify her._

But I knew who she was. She had been the girlfriend of Enrique's sister, but when we reported her, we cut all ties with that wretch.

"I know! I know, Gomez. And I'm sorry, okay?" Regina says, in a voice as not-sorry as one can get.

She is young, twenty-seven, five foot eight and skinny. She has curly, dark brown hair in a bob, golden iris', fair white skin and a few symbolic tattoos (I don't know and frankly don't care what they symbolize). She wears a white crop top, black leggings and black boots. She has a ruby stud earring and another ear wrapped in a silver dragon earring. On her neck is the scar from the wire she was choked with.

 _"Sorry? You think sorry can erase the distress you caused my family?"_

"I know, but I can explain." Regina says.

 _"Explain?"_ I look at Enrique, outraged. _"If I would have known she was coming, I would have-"_

Enrique puts a hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off. "You would have what? You need us, Gomez. Don't forget it."

"Whose side are you _on_?"

 _"Drama..."_ I hear Dantè say to Acid, in a sing-song voice.

 _"Shut up."_ I say to him, then turn back to Acid, restraining myself from hurting her, severely. _"You tried to abduct my daughter, you cannot explain that away!"_

"Yes, I can. I have a _damn good_ explanation if you would shut your mouth and let me give it." Regina contradicts.

 _"Explanation for nearly kidnapping my daughter?"_ I step closer to her, but pull back and instead storm up to Enrique, the cigar falling out of his mouth. "Enrique, you're like a brother to me. But I am in _no_ mood for games. _This isn't a situation I am going to let you toy with like it's a stick of dynamite!"_

"Gomez, -"

I grab his collar, beads of perspiration falling down my forehead. "I want that thing out of this operation. _Now._ " I let him go. _"My querida is too important for me to let that beast try to sabotage us bringing her home!"_

Regina rolls her eyes. "Somebody gonna shoot Romeo a sedative, or should I?" She asks.

I turn over to her. "Don't you touch me."

"Watch it, Gomez." Enrique orders.

"Make me watch it." I fire back.

Enrique grabs me and we are about to get into a serious fist fight when Regina stops it by stepping in. Enrique and I may be dramatic and hot-tempered but we have an unspoken rule never to hit a woman. Even Regina.

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty." She smirks.

I take a lunge but Santiago holds me back.

Regina slowly steps out of the middle of us.

Enrique grips my hand. "Truega." He says.

"Truega." I agree. It means truce. I shake his hand and he hugs me.

"Look, Gomez. We'll cut to the chase. We're dressed like this because we are taking the van and tracking down Iridis, today. For all we know this could take days." Juan Diego explains.

My stomach churns at the thought of my querida in some sort of institution or holding room for days, having God-knows-what done to her. "I see." Is all I can manage to say.

"We can expect hard combat and we think a Versace suit may limit movement." Santiago continues.

"Agreed. Now, I will try to control myself if someone will please explain to me why in the hell... she is here." I say, in reference to Regina.

"With pleasure, asshole." Regina says, semi-sarcastically.

 _"Excuse-"_ Before I can finish, Enrique admonishes her and leads me out of the room.

"Enrique, I think that was a bit extreme." I say. "You know I'd never hit her."

He rolls his eyes. "That's not it. I think you should go change, then we will talk about why we brought her."

I nod. Enrique and I are around the same size. "Can I borrow some?" I ask.

"Gomez, we're practically family. Do you have to ask?"

"Yes." I reply.

"Yes. Go, get dressed."

"Ah, ah. Not until we clear one thing up." I look him in the eyes. "No one is going to order me around."

"I never said otherwise."

"Good." I nod, in confirmation.

"Gomez, this is your mission. You take the lead, think of me as a V.P."

"Gracias, mi amigo." I squeeze his shoulder and walk upstairs.

His bedroom is large and more Queen of England than Dracula.

I search through his drawers until I find something suitable to my tastes.

As I slip on my black pants, I think about slipping off her black tights. As I put on the burgundy, button-down flannel shirt that I wear more as a jacket because it is not at all buttoned, exposing my chest, I imagine taking off her long, black dress. As I put on my black boots, that look ready for combat, I imagine taking off those black high heels of hers.

And as I study my reflection, looking into the mirror... I relish in the thought of coming into Morticia.

It takes me about ten-fifteen minutes, but I am ready. Quickly, I attach a black belt to my pants, where the guns will be. I walk down the stairs and the minute I enter into the room, I hear cheers, hoots and hollers.

Enrique tosses me a cigar. "Damn." He says.

I chuckle. "Well, do you think she'll like it?" I ask.

Juan Diego nods. "Mmm... I think you're going to have to try real hard to keep your hands off each other when they're under fire."

"I've always told her that I couldn't keep my hands off of her if we were in the middle of a world war." I reply, taking a puff of the expensive cigar.

"Well, you're going to have to try." Regina says, sourly.

Dantè immediately eases the tension. "Damn it, now why can't I have abs like that?"

I sigh, and roll my eyes.

Acid dinks his nose. "You're perfect just the way you are, baby."

Their pet names for each other aren't exactly unique or particularly romantic, but it makes them happy so I really don't care.

"Yes." I sit down, now, on the chair in front of the couch and Enrique is behind me, gripping my shoulders. "Now, tell me why she's here."

"Gladly." Regina sits on the chair next to me and takes a sip of the coffee she must have just gotten. "My mother... she's-"

Whatever this story is going to have to wait. I hear the sound of an alarm go off and glass shattering.

"What the hell is that?" I ask.

Enrique gets a grim look in his eyes. "An emergency."

People in goggles and all white combat outfits with Iridis Inc. imprinted on the upper right have burst into the mansion. There are at least twenty of them.

We take whatever weapons we can off of the walls. I am armed with two .44 revolvers and I shove them into the gun-holders in my belt.

I hope the others are alright. One grabs me and holds me down, but I pull out my gun and shoot out their eye.

They stumble back, and fall to the floor, screaming and probably bleeding out.

I am grabbed from behind but I turn and shoot them, too. They go down.

I repeat this process in different forms with person after person, but some of them are rising up. So, after every fatal injury, I must shoot (quite literally) for another.

Enrique is to my left, while all of the others accept Regina have spread throughout the now trashed house.

Enrique believes he is done but someone is coming up behind him.

My initial feelings that Regina orchestrated this are proved to be false when she knifes the guy ready to kill Enrique.

I give her a nod of thanks and continue my search throughout the house to help in any way I can and stop anyone I can. But at the rate they're rising up, I could easily say anything.

There are corpses and there is blood all over the house, but I walk up the freshly painted red stairs and am attacked once again.

I cannot pull out my gun, so I pull their hair. Their head bashes against mine and we stumble out of each other's grasp. I stop myself from tumbling down the stairs and race to the top, determined. Before I continue, I shoot them dead. Or... at least, I hope they're dead.

I check every room and all I see are bodies, but thankfully of the enemy.

When I get back downstairs to the den, my crew is all there. They are wounded, but not severely.

"We have to go, _now_." I order.

Enrique and the crew follow.

When I get the key in the ignition in the black, nine-person van, we catch out breaths.

Bleeding from my forehead, I am the first to speak. _"What the hell was that?"_

Enrique and Regina share a look, I notice, as I adjust the mirror. I turn to Enrique, in the passenger seat.

 _"Tell me what the hell's going on."_ I say, with more force.

Regina sighs. "Sir, yes sir." Sarcasm is her _M.O._ , I take it. "My mother is Dr. Nightshade, the one who sent you that letter. She was the one who wanted me to kidnap Wednesday. I didn't know I was being brainwashed but I was. See, Morticia wasn't supposed to be the consequence, your children were. But when Morticia choked me..." She feels her neck. "She said she would much rather have her. Shortly after that, after I found out what she was doing and what she did to your parents... I was done."

I didn't know what the hell she was talking about. "My _parents_?"

"Yes, why they were killed?"

I shake my head in confusion.

"You mean you don't know about...?"

Enrique shakes his head, _no_.

Regina nods. "I see. Alright, well I suppose it's better to learn the truth late than never." She inhales, deeply. "Your parents, tried to ruin her organization. She tried to kidnap you, when you were just a boy. They got there before they could even come close to you. But, nevertheless, they found out the horrible things she was doing to people against their will. They found out how demented this woman was. So, they got the authorities involved and they shut Iridis down. What happened after that..." Again, a pause. "Dimentia was angry, more angry than she had ever been. She hated you, and felt it was your fault because you pointed her kidnapping crew out before they could get to you. So, as a _warning_ , she had them murdered. It wasn't an angry mob. It was an angry doctor."

I am even more furious than I thought possible. I swallow, hard. "What horrible things?" I asked, more concerned for my living bride than the dead.

Regina stiffens. "Boy, you're really in the dark."

 _"What horrible things?"_ I ask again.

"Human experimentation." She responds.

Experiments? Like lab rats and cages, and injections, and-

"With the help of magic, as in that paranormal stuff. They can merge people' dreams and fuck with their heads."

The dreams. The blood.

"They just have to drink their poison and-"

 _The water._

"We are getting Morticia back. I will die before I let them hurt her."

"They may have already." She says honestly.

I clench my teeth and squeeze the leather out of the steering wheel. "Then, so help me, they will _pay_."

"Don't worry. I meant what I said, I'm helping."

I shake my head. "I meant what I said. Nothing you did is justifiable. But if you help me, it may be forgivable."

She nods. "I will. But don't get in my way."

"I won't."

Enrique sighs. "Gomez, what if... it's another warning?" Always was the skeptic.

I shake my head, outraged at Iridis and that damned doctor. "No. The first time, she killed my parents. Now, she has taken Morticia. This wasn't a warning, no matter what anyone tries to say. She has stolen my beloved, Enrique. _This,_ is a declaration of _war._ "

Enrique nods. "Then we will fight."

They cheer, and I open my phone to see if Josh has called.

A gruesome, bloodied face presses against the glass. The person works for Iridis. They bang on the windows, but I -not taking my eyes off of the strange device- move the car forward and they are run over.

I stop the car and finally open something called _messages_.

 _4:00 pm: Gomez, it's Josh. I hacked Iridis. Not enough to change what they're doing, but enough to see it. They're coming for you, now. Get ready._

I check the time. It is 5:00 pm. How did I not receive the message that was supposedly already sent? This is why I do not like these cellphones.

"Santiago, take the wheel." I say. "Enrique, show me how this damn thing works."


	11. This Mind of Mine

Chapter 9: This Mind of Mine

 _The girl walked through the field of black orchids, whilst the boy walked through a sun-stained cloud. Different paths, they were on. That was clear._

 _And which would one prefer? The orchids, black, beautiful, and rare? Or the cloud, yellow, filled with joy, and oh, so frequent?_

 _If you chose to walk with the orchids, you might be just as rare as they. However, it is not bad to choose to walk among the clouds, so long as you try not to spread the joy you are obsessed with now as if you were some "born again Christian"._

 _That girl, that lonely girl walking among the black orchids, is content. She is the better of the two in this respect. She does not wish to spread her darkness if they don't want it, but if they do, she is more than willing._

 _To the blind -not in the eyesight sense of the word- I am contradicting my previous statement, when I say this. I am not, in truth. A word of advice: be like the girl whom walks among the orchids, even if you would rather walk through the clouds. For you can walk through the clouds all you like. But it will do you no good until you learn to love the orchids for what they are, unlike yourself and beautiful in their own way._

 _~Walk Among the Orchids_

 _Morticia Addams_

 _December 24th, 1986_

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I put up the hood of my cloak.

Most of the bodies the eyes belong to slowly step into the light.

There is a girl, of around five foot seven, with fair white skin. She is skinny, and has sea green eyes with black, curly hair in a bob. She appears to have a beauty mark above her upper lip, to the right. She is skinny, but seems to have a nice figure. She wears a white hospital gown.

I notice a young boy, who looks no more than twenty. He seems no more than an inch taller than I, who stands at five foot nine. He has fair white skin as well, and blue eyes with wavy, brown hair. He is skinny, and wear white hospital pants with a matching shirt.

There is an older man who is very tall and on the tanner side. His eyes are brown, and he has chestnut brown hair, and stubble. He wears the same outfit as the young boy.

"Hello." I speak.

The girl looks at me, questioningly and turns up the flashlight, making the cell brighter. "Hello." She replies.

Good, we're engaging in conversation. "Where am I?" I ask.

The young boy sees me and takes a step back, as if he is afraid.

The older man sighs. "One of the new ones, aye?"

"I'm sorry?" What does he mean by that?

"Damn it all, we just got a new one." The girl grimaces.

"A new what?" I stand.

"Oh, sorry. A new cellmate. You won't be dressed like that for long, missy." The girl explains.

"I see."

"Well, we might as well get introductions out of the way. Let me tell you, I'm real sick of this crap. I'm gonna give that doctor a piece of my mind one of these days."

"Shut up, you aren't going to do shit." The older man says to her.

She goes a bit quiet. "Maybe one of these days, I will." She mumbles. She then turns to me. "That guy over there," she points to the older man. "Is Richard. He's the oldest at thirty-seven. Once you get to know him, _you'll understand why his nickname is Dick._ "

 _"Hey-"_

The girl cuts him off. "That's Ash. He's twenty-two." She points to the timid young boy.

Ash waves at me, and I wave back.

"I'm twenty-seven." She shakes my hand. Well, she gripped it for a few seconds and then let go.

"And what's your name?" I ask.

"I'm Evil."

I pause. "Oh, please, darling. True evil isn't-"

"No, that's my name." Evil cuts me off.

Interesting. "Well, it's very straightforward. It's a lovely name. Might I ask who named their child Evil?"

She gives a small, sarcastic laugh. "Yea, you can ask all you'd like. But I wouldn't know the answer."

The room stares. Perhaps to see how I'll react?

I straighten my back, even though it hurts. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm not missing anything." Oh, the poor girl. How long has she _been_ here?

"Ash used to be the baby until the new one came. Hey, how old are you?" Richard asks.

Well, then. _Isn't he the gentleman?_ "I'm twenty-nine." I say. "I'm Morticia."

I extend my hand and he shakes it. Not what I'm accustomed to, but fine.

Before anyone can respond, I hear a cry coming from inside the cage. Nobody appears at all phased.

"What was that?" I ask.

Evil rolls her eyes. "Ignore it, it's yesterday's newcomer."

That's right, they called her _the baby_. "Oh, the poor dear, is she alright?"

"She's fine, Morticia. Don't bother. She's barely talked to anyone, all we can get is her name and her age." Evil seems to be the ring leader.

"I wish you guys would try to help her, I hate it when she cries." Ash says.

I raise my eyebrow. "Well, why don't you?"

"I... it's just hard here, and she won't really talk." Ash tries to explain.

I shake my head. "How old is she?"

"We said don't bother, who-" I cut Evil off.

 _"How old is she?"_ I ask again.

"She's nineteen." Evil responds.

"Oh my god." I feel awful for her. Nineteen years old and being subjected to this, not to mention the poor manners and brutality.

I follow the crying and see a wisp of a girl. She is presumably five foot six. She has fair white skin, on the paler side and big, brown eyes. She has small waves of long, dark blonde hair. She looks so young, one can tell she's only nineteen. She is closed in the same hospital gown as Evil.

She is staring up at me, tears falling down her face like the rain Gomez and I used to watch out the window at night. As I look at her face, I can feel his strong arms around me, holding me and whispering those Spanish and Italian terms of endearment in my ear. Reassuring me if I've had a bad day or talking to me if I've had a good one. I have had that, this broken beauty in front of me hasn't seen anything like it.

I get on my knees and sit in front of her. "Hello, dear. I'm Morticia."

She doesn't back away, but I suppose that very well may be because she can't. Something changes in her face, although I cannot quite point it out, and she stops crying.

I take this as a sign to keep going, and I place a gentle hand on the girl's knee, where her elbows rest. "What's your name?"

"E-E... Emily." She manages to say.

She looks like an Emily.

I give a small smile. "I do not know what you have been subjected to. But whatever it was, it was enough to put you at such a state as this. And-"

"Morticia, -"

"Shh!" I cut Richard off. I continue. "And for that, my dear girl, I am truly sorry." I take my hand off of her knee. "If there is anything you need, please-"

A fresh flood of tears come and the girl embraces me. I had no idea a girl of such a petite stature could possess such strength.

Although she is only ten years younger than I, I feel almost like a surrogate mother to this girl. I stroke her hair and she buries her head in my cloak.

Am I using this Emily to fill a void because I miss my Wednesday? No. I do not do that to people. But, does Emily remind me of consoling my own children? Oh, yes.

I can feel all eyes on me. I wonder why? Perhaps, it is because I am the only one who has attempted to help this poor girl.

I rub her back and she continues to cry.

"Will you help me?" Emily asks. She sounds like a young, intelligent girl who was going places in life until... this happened.

"Yes, of course, I'll help you dear. I'll try not to leave your side."

"Thank you." She smiles, relieved and grasps onto me for dear life. "They cover this cage at night or sometimes during the day." She whispers. "I can't stand it, being alone in dark terrifies me."

"Alright, dear. Alright, now, listen to yourself. Why would being alone in the dark scare you? You have much more to fear from the people around you in the dark than yourself."

She seems to ponder this. "Yes, I... I suppose I do." She sits down and leans against the bars.

I sit next to her and do the same.

"What..." Emily gulps. "What did they do to you, why... why are you here?"

"They took me from my backyard. I was walking through our cemetery and they kidnapped me. That was about a week ago, now. It took five days to get here. Today would be my..." I control my emotions as I realize it is my seventh day missing. "My seventh day missing. And I don't really know why I'm here, dear."

She shakes her head, hyperventilating. "Oh my God. Oh my god, what if... what if they took Bryan?" She puts her head in her hands and cries again.

I put a hand on her shoulder, and give a cold stare to those watching and refusing to help.

"Who's Bryan?" I ask.

"My brother, he's only ten years old. He can't survive here, neither can I but he... he's going to die." She shakes her head, psyching herself out.

"Now, don't do that, Emily." I have my arm around her and I pat her hand. "Do you see him anywhere? No, if they took him, he'd be in the cage with us."

Evil gives a bitter laugh. "No, he wouldn't."

"Evil, don't say anything." Ash tries to stop her.

"No, they should know the truth." Evil holds a hand in his face. "He could easily be in any one of these cages."

I look up at her. "There's more?" I ask.

Richard nods, standing and leaning against the bars. "Yep."

Emily shakily lifts her head to look at Evil, and I can tell she is easily intimidated. "How... how many of us are there?" She asks.

"How many of us?" Evil sighs. "Two hundred fifty, and counting."

Emily sobs again.

"There, there, darling. We won't be here forever." I say to her.

Richard laughs, loudly. "Now, that's a load of shit if I've ever heard it! I've been here for ten years. Evil's been here-"

"Shut up." Evil commands.

"A long time, too." Richard rephrases internally.

"Yes, and I have been here two days. What does that have to with the price of cyanide in the drug store?"

Richard seems confused. "What?"

"What?"

Richard resumes what he was saying. "We aren't leaving. We're either getting released or staying, and no one gets released."

"Well..." Evil smiles. "Not in the _we're gonna let you go_ sense."

Emily is shaking with fear and leans into me. I stroke her hair and give all three of them death glares. The poor girl is worried enough as it is.

"Alright, alright, Emily. Everything's going to be fine. Would it help to think about your family?"

"I take... I take care of my brother, my mom was... was taken to the hospital last year. My dad... he died in Afghanistan. He was in... he was in the Marines."

I nod. "I'm so sorry, dear. My father passed away when I was a little younger than you were. Perhaps I can invite you over and we can séance him sometime, hmm?" I squeeze her shoulder.

Emily cracks a slight smile and closes her eyes. "What am I going to do?" She asks.

I run my hand down her shoulder. "Rest, dear. Alright? Rest and be strong. We'll get through whatever this is, I promise." I turn to Evil and Richard. _"Won't we?"_

"I mean, -"

All it takes is one look and Evil stops dead in her tracks.

"Sure."

I then watch her close her eyes and I begin to sing mine and Gomez's song, _Goodbye Sweet Sanity_.

I do not even get through the second chorus when the cover comes off of the cell and light invades the cage.

As if on cue, Evil shuts off the flashlight.

My cellmates spread out to all ends of our cage.

I turn my head to see Dr. Nightshade, carrying a clipboard.

"Hello, inmates." She greets us, coldly. "You can relax, I'm here for Morticia. Your schedule for your shower has been changed, so Dr. Ankerstein will be here to escort you in ten minutes."

Evil shakes her head. "This is the fourth time it's been rescheduled."

Dr. Nightshade raises an eyebrow. "Evil, if you talk back to me one more time, your sleeping with the crazies tonight."

Whatever the hell that means, is enough to make Evil shut up.

"What do you say?" Dimentia presses.

"I'm sorry, doctor." Evil mumbles.

"We have an open slot, actually. You haven't seen Archie in years-"

 _"I'm sorry, doctor."_ Evil says, loudly. One would think she is talking to a colonel or sergeant.

"Better. You're making progress, Evil." Dr. Nightshade opens the cage door and turns her attention to me. "Morticia, over here."

Emily latches onto me like a leech, shaking her head.

I gently take her hands off of me and set them in her lap. "Emily, dear, I will be back."

She is still shaking her head and crying.

"Control her, Morticia and come here." Dr. Nightshade orders. "Or I will."

I do as I am told, for Emily's sake. "I will be right back, be a good girl while I'm gone, dear, alright?" I bend down and whisper to her, "We're in this together." And I walk out of the cage.

Emily appears paralyzed, frozen in place, like a statue.

I stand by Dimentia.

"Alright, good girl." Dimentia forces a rope around my wrist and holds the other end. She then closes the cage doors. "Walk with me." She orders.

I resent this, I feel like a dog. I internally shudder, but I take after the vile woman.

She leads me down the hall and to a brown door of what I presume is a bathroom. It has a triangle and a rectangle on it and they both have heads.

Dimentia opens the door to reveal that I was right. It is a small room while peeling white paint and green, floral wallpaper that is falling off the walls. The floor is dilapidated and the sink is small. The toilet looks older than dirt itself.

She unties my wrist and shoves the same type of white hospital gown that Evil and Emily wear into my arms. "Strip and give me your clothes." She orders. "Bra as well, leave your panties on."

I do so, and Dimentia looks at her watch in frustration. I don't think the doctor realizes that I am wearing heels, tights, a cloak, a tight nightgown that I cannot unzip on my own and dangling earrings. As well as my wedding ring, but I won't take that off. I don't care what they do to me. Thankfully, though, she has not asked.

I am finally undressed and I slip the flimsy gown up over my head. It is a light cotton material, so there is no need for a tie. However, because of my long legs and figure, a short, shapeless white gown isn't what I would describe as flattering.

"There." I say, tired. "Now, what? Would you like me to dance, as well?"

Dimentia rolls her eyes. "Shut the hell up and learn to show me some respect."

"You don't deserve my respect." I say to her.

"Oh, don't I? You would have been raped by Dr. Winthrop if it weren't for me."

"We both know you would have let that happen if it worked out in your favour."

Dimentia looks at me, coldly. "I would have. But lucky for you, it didn't. Now, if you have to shit, do it. I let bathroom breaks happen right before you see the other doctors."

I must use the bathroom. I have go, desperately but is she going to be in here?

I nod. "Alright, I'll be out soon."

She chuckles. "I won't let you be inhere alone until hell freezes over."

"It appears you can let me in then. If hell hasn't frozen over by now I'd hate to see what this looks like when it does."

"Knock it off." She orders.

"What will I do?" I ask. "I know I have the complexion of an apparition but I can assure you walking through walls is not an option for me."

Dimentia crosses her arms. "You could kill yourself on the sink, bash your head in... so many opportunities."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I ask.

"No." She replies. "Then what fun would this be?"

I wouldn't, no matter how terrible this gets. I have to believe that Gomez is coming for me. He wouldn't let me go, _ever_. That man fights for me and he wins, every time. And this time will be no different. I will get out of here and so will Emily. I'll be damned if I let that girl waste away in here.

 _"You're sick."_ I say and hover above the toilet.

"And soon, you will be." Dr. Nightshade smiles.

After I wash my hands with what little soap there was left, the rope is tied to my left wrist once again and we walk out.

I can feel the cold floor beneath my feet and I hate it. They're small for my height, a size six overall.

I concentrate on them and the sound of Dr. Nightshade's heels _click-clacking_ down the hall.

We walk down flights of steep, black stairs and enter a basement. It's giving me serious flashbacks to when Dr. Winthrop used to...

There he is. The room is dark and there is a white, dentist-doctor hybrid chair in the middle of it. There are needles filled with different liquids, and they are labeled but I do not understand what they read. There are tools all lied out on a tray next to the chair.

Next to Dr. Winthrop, is a tall, thin, African woman with long, cocoa coloured hair and dark pink lipstick. She wars natural eye makeup, a lab coat, black heels and black frame glasses, like Dimentia. She wears white gloves, as does Dr. Winthrop.

"Hello, is this Morticia?" The African woman asks, in an upbeat tone of voice.

Dr. Nightshade nods. "Yes, Dr. Ankerstein. This is the one I've been telling you about."

"A nice figure, that one has." Dr. Ankerstein looks me up and down, and stops when she gets to my face. "Dr. Nightshade, you're terrible! You know we can't start until she takes off that makeup."

"Well, we had no more rags." Dr. Nightshade says, defensively.

"Well, lucky for her, we have plenty." Dr. Ankerstein turns to Dr. Winthrop. "Right, doctor?"

"Yes, Christine." He throws a prolonged predatory gaze at me. "And she'd look so pretty without it." He gave a great sigh. "Perhaps even prettier than she does with it."

I break the gaze. "Why do I need my makeup off?" I ask.

"Because, dear. It'll smear all over the tools if we need to use your face." I hear an oddly familiar voice, and I cannot place my finger on it. I turn around to see who it belongs to, and my blood boils.

Rags in hand, standing before me, is George Womack. He is a tall man, with brown hair that has almost gone fully grey. He has eyes that look like they have seen too much, and a body that looks like it has been through a war, and while it didn't win, it out up a big fight.

"George?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

George freezes. "Hello, Morticia. It's so good to see you again."

"Why on earth are you here?" I ask, hurt. Wonderful, I cannot even trust my own neighbours now.

George Womack's mustache twitches and he chuckles. "It seems your husband threw one too many golf balls through my window, aye, _Tish_?" He pinches my cheek and hands me the rags.

 _"Pardon?"_ I snap.

"Well, that's your nickname, is it not?" George asks.

I shake my head. "You don't get to call me that. Up until now, you called me _Mrs. Addams_."

"Yea, up until now, you called me _Judge Womack_." He says.

"You don't deserve a professional title."

"Aww, and neither do you." He says. "Dr. Ankerstein, please take her to the bathroom. I'll help adjust her chair."

Dr. Ankerstein leads me into a bathroom by the back wall that looks slightly better than the last one I was just in.

I wash my face, scrubbing off my lipstick that doesn't look as bad as I thought it did, and my heavy eyeliner.

Dr. Ankerstein is shocked at the fact that this foundation is not foundation at all, but infact, it is my skin. I am naturally white as a ghost.

"My, you're awfully pale." She remarks.

"Thank you." My tone is anything but grateful.

"Your welcome, honey. Now put your hair up." Christine hands me a black ponytail holder. She does not seem kind, she seems crazy.

I shake my head and put my hair up in a high bun, with a strand hanging down.

"You _are_ a good girl." Dr. Ankerstein leads me out of the bathroom and to the newly adjusted chair.

"How did she behave, Christine?" Dr. Nightshade asks.

"She's an angel, Dimentia." Dr. Ankerstein nods.

Dr. Winthrop grabs me and straps my wrists into the chair. "We meet again, black beauty." He looks at the other doctors with pleading eyes.

Dr. Nightshade gives a small nod of approval.

Without another word, he kisses me and I want to vomit. Dr. Winthrop forces his tongue inside of my mouth and shoves his hand under the seat, grabbing my ass.

Dr. Nightshade clears her throat. "Get back to work, Winthrop. That's all you get to do for now." She tells him.

Dr. Winthrop does as he is told and grabs a needle filled with white, bubbling liquid.

He injects it into my vein, and no sooner than this do I feel bile forming in my throat. I feel sick, so terribly sick and I want to throw up but something is preventing me from doing so. My world is distorted, and I feel tears forming in my eyes, for no reason at all.

Dr. Winthrop turns toward the doctors. "Number 432: acid-based substance, Fliphamine. Created last December 2nd, 1994. Effects of the drug are as follows: distortion, nausea and tear projection." He looks at me. "Do you feel a burning sensation, black beauty?"

I shake my head, but when it comes, it burns my entire being and I feel as though I have just swallowed Mr. Sun. I nod, unable to speak.

"And a strong burning sensation." He tells the doctors.

Dimentia writes everything on her clipboard.

Little do I know, the worst is yet to come, and this injection is the first of many.

For what feels like days but in reality, is only until around 9:30 pm, I am tortured with injection after injection. But the only true torture is the feeling of Winthrop's rough, chapped, old lips against mine. I am injected with substances made from every acidic thing they can find from lemon juice and Redphormin -whatever the hell that is- to some weird, wrong form of penicillin.

The side effects range from making me hallucinate and want to kill everyone around me, to making me believe I am watching myself rot from the inside out. Sometimes, the drugs will make me paranoid or -and this has only happened twice- do nothing at all but make me shake a bit. And oh, what I wouldn't give for just a bit of cyanide. Yes, for myself, but also to inject into these horrendous doctors, and George.

Womack won't leave me alone, and keeps calling me _Tish_ just to get under my skin. Dr. Ankerstein just keeps acting like they're giving me a relaxing massage rather than jabbing me with a large, sharp needle over and over again. And she keeps promising that this is _all in the name of science_ , whatever that means. And under the circumstances, the massage would be better. Dr. Nightshade just forces everyone else to do her dirty work whilst she sits on the sidelines and jots my hurt down on a clipboard. And I'd rather not discuss Dr. Winthrop, but I know I must. He has come back for me with a vengeance, and makes sexual advances towards me every chance he gets.

But at 9:30, at 9:30, it is over.

I am unstrapped and weaker than I realize. How I will manage to walk up the stairs, I have no idea.

I am let up out of the chair, no help from anyone in the entire room (not that I expected it) and am shoved over to Dr. Nightshade, whom secures the rope around my wrist.

I am not at all steady on my feet, and I fall over. I notice now that not one of these people has my old clothes, and I am afraid to ask what they have done with them.

"Get up." Dr. Nightshade orders.

I can't, I'm sore and tired, but I try.

She kicks me in the side. "Get up or your sleeping with the crazies tonight."

I don't know what that means, but I know I have to get up. I have to get up for Emily.

I stand, weak and she leads me back up the stairs.

"You're taking a late shower today, so you'll have it to yourself this time. But this is the _only_ time, so make it last. I am not in the habit of generosity."

I nod and keep walking, saying nothing.

"What do we say?"

"I suppose you're looking for a 'thank you'?" I ask her.

"Yes." We get to the top of the stairs and she slaps me across the face. "I am."

"Thank you." I say. On a normal day, I wouldn't put up with it. But that girl in there needs me.

"Better, you're learning." She pulls me toward large, baby blue double doors and lets me in there alone.

"Why in here, may I be alone?" I ask her.

"Because it would take a while to bash your head in, and if you so much as try, I will know and you'll have your first offense written down."

I nod. "May I go in, doctor?" I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

She gestures for me to enter. "Fifteen minutes starts now."

I enter, shutting the door behind me.

I study the setting. The shower is the size of our cage, and there are six shower-heads. In each area, there is a shelf and it has a razor on it. There is soap and shampoo in the corner of the room that has seen better days and a section for one's clothing by the door, where the worn and torn rags are.

I strip, and take the bun out of my hair. I then walk to the farthest showerhead. It turns on, and the water starts off freezing, but then becomes slightly better. It soon is tolerable, and I shave with the flimsy razor. It hurt like hell and cut me more than a couple of times. As I shower, I steal glances at the wedding ring on my finger, and let the water run down my face, masking the tears I hid from the world I now find myself in.

I let it all out here. I am thinking of Gomez, and of how much I miss him, and of how lonely that big bed must be without me in it. I miss Kitty and the children, and the rest of the family. I need Gomez's arms around me now, more than ever and he doesn't even know where I am.

And then I think of how strong I always have to be, and how this is no different. I have to remain in control, and collected. And I have to be there for Emily, because nobody else is. But, above all, I have to get out. Right now, I just don't know how. And _sleeping with the crazies_ won't help me figure it out.

Soon, my fifteen minutes is up and Dimentia bangs on the door.

I walk over to the rags and dry off. I then, quickly put on the little clothing I now own and put up my hair in the same style I did before the... testing, happened.

Dr. Nightshade chastises me for my tardiness but doesn't hit me again. I won't complain.

She takes me back to the cell and shoves me into it. "You learn to watch how you talk to me, Morticia. I'll do more for you than you'll ever know."

I have fallen after having been shoved. " _For me,_ no. _To me_ , oh, yes." I say.

She turns her head and locks the cage, putting the cover over it and walking out.

I turn around and as soon as I do, Emily runs to me and embraces me, in tears.

 _"Thank God."_ Is all I can hear her say. "It was horrible!" She cries.

"What did you do to her while I was gone?" I ask the other three, semi-sarcastically.

Evil rolls her eyes. "Nothing."

I shake my head and stroke the poor, fragile girl's hair. _"Exactly."_ I say to her, and continue to try and comfort Emily.

The cage then rises up into the air by the chain it is connected to and Emily whimpers.

I calm her and the others seem unfazed.

"We're raised in the air every night, just so we don't escape if we magically figure out some way to." Evil explains.

I sigh and take Emily to lean against the bars with her.

She leans against me, and the others sit around us, staring at me, as if waiting for me to speak.

I do just that. _"What the hell?"_ I ask, looking up at the ceiling. I ask myself more than anyone else.

"So, why are ya here?" Richard asks.

"I said I didn't know." I reply.

"No, but maybe we do." Evil chimes in. "Somebody lied to you, missy. Dr. Nightshade choses her victims wisely. If you didn't know about Iridis, somebody in your family does and didn't say anything."

I shake my head. "That's impossible. My family is my mother, my two young children, my butler and my husband. And my husband would never lie to me."

Richard laughs. "Yea, they all say that."

"Lemme guess, he'd never chest on you either?" Evil asks.

"Never." I say, with full confidence. "Why would he have reason to? Lie or cheat? We have a wonderful relationship."

Evil shakes her head, in disbelief. "You _really_ don't know what's going on here, do you?"

"No, I really don't."

"Human experimentation. Paranormal activity. Dr. Dimentia Nightshade and her team of demonic doctors test drugs and sometimes theories on the inmates, us. They can range from no side effects to making us hallucinate or making us vomit for days." Evil explains, and it gives me chills.

I have to take it all in. The drugs and the liquids, and everything... it all makes sense. Perhaps they knew about us, but we knew nothing about them. I have full confidence in that. Gomez wouldn't jeopardize me like that.

But I say nothing, and Evil continues. "They probably fucked up our immune systems to the point that we'll probably die at thirty like in the 1400s."

"Uh-oh, looks like I missed my death." Richard remarks.

There a small amount of laughter, and then there is a long pause. For at least two minutes, we stare at each other, no words being exchanged.

I break the silence and turn to Evil. "Evil... what did she mean by saying you might have to, _sleep with the crazies_?" I ask.

Evil shakes her head. "I've had to three times since I arrived here. If you talk back to her or disobey, sometimes she will make you spend the night out of the cage."

I am thoroughly confused. "I don't understand. Wouldn't you _want_ to leave the cage?"

Evil's eyes grow wide. "No. Surprisingly, the cage is the safest thing in this godforsaken building."

"Well, then where do they make you sleep?" I inquire, shivering in my hospital gown.

"Dimentia calls the mentally insane ones, _the crazies_. We live in the cages but they live in pens. There are about twelve to a stall and they sometimes have stomach viruses or diseases from the drugs. They suffer from hallucinations or schizophrenia. Every week, they get chemically bathed while we each get a fifteen-minute shower. Before you ask, each means each cage. Guys and girls, so if you're gonna get your panties in a twist, do it now."

I stay collected, although I am disgusted. Who treats the insane, or better yet, any person, this way? I have strong feelings about human rights, especially for the mentally disabled. I donate to a charity devoted to helping these people every year.

Evil continues. "Alright, ya got balls. Good, so do the guys we shower with." She laughs, but it is bitter, as usual. "Anyways, it smells and it's loud and you can't sleep because the people in that stall are talking to you or themselves, sometimes in plain English or gibberish... or Latin. And the guys won't leave you alone." She gets quiet and her voice is little more than a whisper. "They do things to you. Terrible things. The worst part is if you hurt them, you have to endure another night of sleeping there. After three nights back to back, you might be terminated. And that's pretty straightforward, I think."

I feel awful for her. She's been drugged, and now I find she has most likely been raped. No wonder she has lost all hope. "I'm so sorry." I say to her.

"Don't mouth off to Dimentia and you won't be."

Humor usually helps Evil, so I lighten the weight in the room. "She's a royal bitch, isn't she?"

Evil smiles and shakes her head. "Wait 'till you see her niece."

Before I can ask about her niece, I feel that Emily has fallen asleep.

Evil lies on the floor and seems to try to do the same.

Richard leans against the bars, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, and Ash is sleeping at my feet.

I lean my head gently on Emily's, and I try to drift off.

I awaken around midnight, and I stare at the sleeping bodies around me. I feel more alone than I would feel in solitary confinement, in a room full of five people.

Minutes pass, and Evil begins to stir.

She wakes up, and our eyes meet. "You alright?" She asks.

I look up and down. "No." I admit. "Are you?"

Evil gives me a sympathetic look. "Listen, somebody lied to you. Probably your husband. That's all I can say."

I shake my head, refusing to believe it. He would _never_. I look her in the eyes. "May I tell you a secret?" I ask her.

"Yes." Evil says.

"I don't belong here." I tell her, straight out. I don't know how much of a secret that is, but I don't know what anything is anymore.

I seemed to have worn her down, as she looks at me, with a gleam in her sea green eyes. "Can I tell you a bigger one?" She practically whispers.

"Yes." I reply.

The pretend gleam disappears and is replaced with the same emptiness I am already used to seeing, even though I have just arrived.

"None of us do." Evil states, coldly.

I become closed-off myself. My arm is tight around Emily, worried she won't survive in this hell-hole.

Evil sits against the bars and closes her eyes, seemingly trying to sleep.

I do the same, dreams of Gomez and the children being the only things keeping this mind of mine working.


	12. Calm, Cool & Detected

Chapter 10: Calm, Cool & Detected

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

We waited in the back ally of an abandoned bar downtown for an hour before Josh finally contacted us again. He had pinpointed the first location, and discovered that Iridis was on our tail, and could attack us anytime, anywhere.

I have finally been taught how to work this blasted phone, and we suit up for battle, in case we are attacked.

I am armed with two .44 revolvers, which I hold in my belt. Acid carries a knife on her thigh and in her boot, and is armed with a machine gun. Enrique, too, carries a machine gun. Juan Diego carries a .22 revolver while Santiago has a .68. Danté uses knives, as does Regina but she prefers hand-to-hand combat.

We begin to drive, our weapons in the back. We have devised a plan: if attacked, everyone will fight while one of us drvies the car. We will alternate every time, and first up is Santiago.

We do not know how we would be attacked, because there are civilians around who don't have a clue as to what we are doing, but we remain calm.

Our windows are tinted to the point where one would have to look very carefully to see inside. The van is black, and we try to look as inconspicuous as possible.

I am the driver for now, and we are on our way to Delaware Ave., to an alleyway that leads to a road, in a city that is mostly outdated and abandoned. It is about fourty five minutes away, and the entire crew is begging for food.

I cannot even remember the last time I ate, and I know we have to eat if we have a chance at winning this battle. I don't know how much of a waste of time it would be if we need it, and I certaitnly don't want my friends to throw me out of the car. They will if we pass one more _Denny's_.

Still, I drive on for another fourty minutes until we are merely one street away from our designated location.

"Gomez, we just passed another restaurant!" Danté whines.

"Listen, amigo," Enrique puts a hand on my arm. "I know, you want to get to Morticia. So do I, so does everyone in this van. But, so help me God, if you don't get us some food we will murder you and leave your carcus in the woods."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, asshole."

He slaps me on the back. "No problem. What are friends for? Now, please, for the love of Morticia, will you pull into _Friendly's_?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Either your hungrier than Kitty when we're out of fresh meat, or your taste has gone drastically downhill."

"Just park already, we're starving!" I am sorry, I don't remember inviting Regina into this conversation.

Unwilling to argue, I pull into _Friendly's_ and cringe internally. God, on a normal day I would _never_. But the crew is right, we need food and here food is.

We lock the vehicle and check five thousand times to make sure we did. If anyone broke into our car and saw the machine guns in there... we would have no chance at saving my darling.

Acid opens the door for everyone, even though the gentlemen object but she stays put, so we let her.

The hostess stares at us, probably skeptical because of our outfits. But I also can't help but watch her stare at Enrqiue, then at me.

She snaps out of her trance and puts on a forced smile. "Hello, I'm Gemma and I'll be showing you to your table today."

I smile at her, trying to blend in with the crowd for once in my life. "Hello, Miss Gemma. It's a pleasure."

Gemma nods and gets a strange look in her eye. However, she gestures for us to follow her and shows us to our table.

It is large and circular, and right in the middle of the restaurant. So much for trying stay out of the public eye.

I would ask to move, but I am afraid that anything I do might seem unusual because I have weapons literal terrorists use on a daily in the trunk of the car.

We sit, without complaint and order our beverages.

"Well, I don't know about you but I am ordering the entire menu." Acid says.

"Be cool." Danté says to us, quietly. "Just act normal."

Ah, yes, normal. Because we know that I, a wealthy, sword-fighting semi-gothic Spaniard is the equivalent of an average, working-class white American male. I can just rattle off all of the similarities.

I sigh. "Alright, alright. Now order the damn food, I want to be out of here as fast as possible."

The waitress comes over to us in fifteen minutes, and pulls out her notepad.

"Hi. I'm Ivey."

"Hello, Ivey." We say, as though we are in some sort of kidnergaden classroom.

"Uh... hi." Ivey shakes her head. "Alright, what can I get for you?" She asks.

I am the first to order. "May I ask a question?"

"Ask away." Ivey says.

"Thank you. Now, is there anything on this menue that isn't what this restaurant perceives as breakfast?"

"Umm... sir, it's 10:00 am."

"Yes, I know. But you have pancakes and eggs on this menue, and I am confused as to how that qualifies? Don't you have sheep eye salad or anything? I looked at the salad menue and I didn't see anything like it."

"I... no, sir. I could get you chicken, I guess."

I nod. "Alright, chicken will do just fine, thank you, Ivey."

She writes it down and takes the others' orders.

We talk and laugh until Ivey comes back with our food, reminiscing about the old times that won't sound strange to other people. We sort of disguise our stories. For example, when I say, _And then we threw the ball around and played hot potato_ , I actually mean we lit a stick of dynamite, tossed it around and played _Is There a God?_.

They all know that, so we still have good laughs.

But I cannot help but notice the stares we are getting, and not the good kind.

Enrique sees this as well, I can tell.

Specifically, ten people. They are each at different tables, spread throughout the restaurant, and their eyes are almost always on us.

We finish eating and wait for the ladies to use the restroom. I look at Enrique and gesture for him to move closer to me.

He does so, and I lean in. "Do you notice those people staring at us?" I ask.

Enrique nods. "Have you noticed that they all look identical to eachother?" He asks me.

I nod. "Yes." They all look as though they are trying much too hard to blend in with everybody else, and there is something off about each one of them... they all have some amount of white on them.

My phone buzzes just as the ladies get back, and I read the screen. My eyes widen at the text before me:

 _11:00 am- Josh: Gomez, go, now. Iridis is with you._

"We have to leave, _now_." I say to him.

Enrique nods and locks eyes with the crew. "Did I ever tell you about the time we went _apple_ picking?" He asks.

Danté picks up the signal right away.

The code word is, apple. We use it in a sentence and it means, leave. Or Iridis is here.

"No, tell us in the car, Enrique." Danté says.

"Will do." Enrique and the rest of us stand.

Quickly but subtly, Danté pays the bill and I leave a $100 tip for Ivey.

We briskly walk out to the car and grab our weapons from out of the trunk.

We get into the car and begin to drive away.

"What's going on?" Regina asks.

"Iridis is here. And I presume that they're-" I do not get a chance to fully explain.

Before I can so much as blink, a bullet smashes out our mirror.

Santiago drives faster, but more bullets are being fired at us and we know we have to fight back.

I get onto the roof through the opening the car has and begin to fire at them. We are having a driving standoff and I mow down at least seven.

They keep switching out and I do not know how many of them there are. And if there are ten, why do they keep rising up?

After about five minutes, I hear Regina shout. _"Santiago, look out!"_

We hit a rut and the car stops.

The Iridis agents in the car behind us run out of the van. There are ten. That's impossible.

They run towards our car and we have to act fast.

Without hesitation, everyone in the crew except for Santiago gets out of the car and spreads out.

At least one agent takes after each one of us, and I happen to have three after me.

They fire at me and miss, I can dodge bullets like it's my job. However those agents are not so lucky.

I climb up onto the top of a building and shoot at them with both guns, and each of them go down.

One, unbeknownst to me, is right behind me with the gun aimed at my head. He has a bullethole near his heart. How...?

I shoot at him but he doges all of the bullets and chases after me. I come to the end of the roof, and the drop is massive.

He is ganging up on me and I turn and shoot him in the chest. Blood pours out of his body, but he, still standing, pulls a bomb out of his pocket and throws it.

Before it lands, I jump off of the roof and land on the building around the same height, adjacent to the one I was just on.

The building's roof explodes, taking the man with it.

I presume he is dead. He has to be.

I continue to run, shooting at every Iridis agent I can find and jumping from building to building, until I am only two stories off of the ground.

My crew and I mow down the agents, and I see the car has gotten out of the rut. It is driving near the building and I signal Santiago.

He looks up and motions for me to get back into the car. I study the drop and decide it is worth the risk. I jump off of the roof of the building and onto the roof of the car, climbing through it and getting in.

Regina looks at me, suprised. "Impressive." She says.

Perspiring, I nod. "Thanks." Is all I can say.

Enrique pats my back. "Are you alright, Gomez?"

I shake my head, no. "No, I'm not." I look down at my phone screen and I see another text from Josh.

 _12:30 pm- Josh: Hey, queen! Look, Idk where they'll go next. but I no where u will. Go 2 SouthYellow Drive. It's the edge of the woods._

I close my phone and turn to Enrique. "But I will be." With those words, I give the directions to Enrique and we are off.

"Are we going to pass a _McDonalds_?" Juan Diego asks.

I look at him, panting. " _What the hell, Juan Diego?_ We almost got murdered out there and you want to get a _happy mea_ l?"

Juan Diego rolls his eyes. "No, I want to get you some water."

We all eye him. "And I want a _happy meal_." He finishes.

Juan Diego may look tough as nails, but in reality, he... he is, but he has his soft spots.

I nod. "If we pass a _McDonald's_ , Santiago..." I take a deep breath. "Get us all some water, and..." I look at Juan Diego to check if he is serious.

He is.

"And get Juan Diego a _happy meal_." I say.

Santiago sighs. "Yes, sir!" He says and begins to drive.

Sure enough, we pass one and unanimously vote that we will go through the drive-thru, knowing that being in a restaurant is a bad plan under the circumstances.

"Hello, what can I get you today?" I hear the voice of a young woman.

Santiago sticks his head out the window. "Six waters and one happy meal."

"Girls or boys, sir?" The woman asks.

Santiago turns to Juan Diego. "Girls or boys?" He asks.

Juan Diego humphs and crosses his arms. _"Jerk."_

Santiago sticks his head back out the window. "Girls, please." He says.

 _"Fuck you."_ Juan Diego turns his head toward the window.

"Your total will be $6.27, sir. Please drive up to the register."

Santiago closes the window and drives.

When we pull up to the window, we recieve alarmed glances. I wonder why? Perhaps it is because we are a bunch of dishevled looking Spanish men with bloodstained shirts and exposed muscles that practically scream, _I just killed a man_. Or maybe it is just because Santiago keeps fiddling with his wallet.

When the cashier stops caring about our appearences, as soon as Santiago pays him, I see that I am right.

We pass the _happy meal_ to Juan Diego as we drive and he pulls a pink fairy wand, much too small for any of our heads out of the bag.

"In your face, Sanitago. I happen to like... whatever the hell this is."

As Juan Diego screws around with the wand, and we get closer and closer to SouthYellow Drive, all I can think about is my carita mia... and how much I need her in my arms.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I wake up in a panic, hoping to find Gomez's muscular arms around me, reassuring me that I just had a bad dream, and I'm alright. And that he isn't going anywhere, and he never will.

But I face darkness, and light desperatley trying to peek through the cover over the cage. I can tell we are no longer suspended in the air, so it either experimentation time, or morning... or both.

The dream was horrible, and makes me worry for Gomez more than I already am.

 _I am running through the hospital, and there is gunsmoke and fire all around. The alarm sounds and there are bodies of inmates and doctors alike, all over the floor._

 _There is a gun aimed at Gomez and... and then all I see is blood._

I allow my eyes to adjust to waking up, and watch my cellmates awaken around the same time as I.

"Good morning." I say to them.

"Morning, but I don't know how good it is." Evil says, sourly.

"Fine, _dreadful morning_." I rephrase, not in the mood this early.

"That's better." Evil says.

"You're my kind of people." I say.

Evil rolls her eyes. "Yea me and half the inmates here, _mom_."

I am a bit offended by this. _"Excuse me?"_

"Oh, come on. I don't know what kind of authority you think you have but we have a rule here. We look out for ourselves, we are not a team. Every one can only count on themselves in the end. This isn't _Superman_ and his band of heroes, this is an asylum and the labrats who inhabit it." She fires at me.

I give a cold stare. "Well, perhaps that's why you've never escaped."

She gets up and marches over to me. "Oh, like hell if I'll let you talk that way to me."

Evil seems more agressive than usual. "I believe this is the drugs talking, darling."

 _"Ya know, somebody ought to teach you a lesson, you little-"_

Ash stands up in front of me. "Stop, Evil. Right now."

 _"Move, Ash." Evil orders._

Emily burries her head in my shoulder.

I stare at the scene unfolding before me.

"No, Evil. Just leave her alone, at least she's trying to help everyone! All you ever think about is yourself! _You and Richard just think we're never gonna get out and you gave up a along time ago. Some of us would like to believe we have a chance._ "

Evil slaps him. "You don't... you don't know what you're saying." She then paces around the cage like a shark circling a boat-full of bleeding potential victims.

She then sits in a corner of the cage and begins rocking back and forth. _"Mom, I'm sorry. Don't leave, mom, please. Please don't leave."_

I leave Emily for a minute and walk over to Evil. "Evil, darling, what's wrong?"

"Morticia, no! This drug, it-"

Ash cannot warn me.

Before I know it, Evil is choking the living hell out of me.

I grab her and struggle for oxygen.

"I warned ya." Richard says.

Emily is crying and Ash runs over to her, taking a page out of my book and trying to console her.

Emily isn't really having it, but seems to calm down and Richard finally comes to my aid.

He grabs Evil's hands and pries them off of my throat.

Richard then steps infront of me and throws Evil to the side when she tries to come near me.

"What the hell did they give her?" I ask him.

"Three shots of Dorphalin last night. It's got similar ingredients as methamphetamine and some other ingredients I haven't heard of." He explains.

"How do you know the ingredients of crystal meth?" Ash asks Richard.

Richard sighs, and I've noticed that almost 24/7, I can picture him with a cigarette in his mouth. He probably smoked before he came here.

"I've been around." Richard says.

Ash nods. "I believe that."

I then trade places with him and Emily latches onto me again.

Evil then falls asleep, as though she had been sleep walking before.

"When does the drug usually wear off?" I ask.

"Oh, in about an hour. She got in last night real late. Infact, it might have been morning. It's this weird, eight hour thing."

Confused, I ask another question. "Wouldn't they have kept her if they wanted to experiment?"

"Nah, they know what the drug does."

"But, why-"

"Torture." Richard says. "They hate that girl." He looks me in the eyes. "Almost as much as they hate you."

"How do you know they hate me?" I inquire.

"'Cause they won't shut up about it." He says to me.

My eyes shift once. "I see."

Ash tries to ease the tension in the room. "I hear we're getting something edible for lunch this week." He says.

That's right, food. I had forgotten all about food. True, I have been excruciatingly hungry but with all the drugs, and rushing, and Emily... I haven't eaten in days, I realize.

"When do we eat?" Emily asks.

Ash looks at her, sympathy in his eyes. Good, it's about damn time somebody try to help this girl other than me.

"We eat on Sundays at 7:00 pm and Wednesdays at 12:00 pm." Ash says.

I smile. "Wednesday."

"Hmm?" Ash asks.

"My daughter, Wednesday. I call her my little spider, she's seven." I elaborate.

Ash grins. "Aww, how sweet." He then realizes something. "Oh my gosh, and you haven't seen her for-"

"A week. Yes, Ash, my daughter has been without her mother for a week." I sit up and beckon him over to me.

He crawls over.

"This is what these people are doing to us." I say, quietly. "They are taking mothers away from their children, and," I squeeze Emily's shoulders. "Sisters away from brothers. This can't go on."

He shakes his head, a slow, sad, movement. "But, what can we do?"

Evil kicks and screams in her sleep, and Richard is close by her. He rubs her back and she calms down.

"As much as she won't accept it, we aren't as alone in this as she thinks." Richard says. I cannot tell if he is talking to himself, or us... or neither.

Before I can give a reply, the cover comes off the cage.

I see a skinny young girl, with not much of a figure. She is five foot seven, and has icy, blue eyes. She has fair white skin and dark hair. It is reddish-brown, long and has a bouncy wave to it. It is pinned back with a curles strand hanging in front. She wears a short, pastel pink skirt, a classy, white blouse and white pumps. Her nails are done in a French manicure, and she wears eye makeup to match her clothes with pale lipstick. She has a fancy, white diamond necklace and a matching ankle bracelet and pair of earrings. Lastly, she has a clipboard and a pink, _Luis Vitton_ handbag. Popping it's little head our of the handbag, is Hernus.

It spots me immideatley and begins meowing.

I wave at it.

Richard grimaces, and Ash backs away. Emily and I just stare at the girl, confused.

"Hello, inmates." Her voice sounds not perky but preppy, and a lot like Dimentia.

It dawns on me then that this must be Dr. Nightshade's neice, Rose.

"Shut up!" Rose yells at the bag and slaps it.

Hernus does not keep quiet until I walk up to the front of the cage and sit back down, Emily doing the same.

"Hello." Rose looks at me, seemingly disgusted. She looks down at Hernus. _"Stupid cat."_ She grimaces.

Oh, excuse me? "He is _not_ stupid." I contradict.

This girl obviously is not accustomed to being stood up to. _"I'm sorry?"_

"You should be." I say.

Rose steps closer to the cage, setting down the clipboard. "And just who the hell do you think you are?" She asks.

"Morticia, _don't_." Richard tries to stop me.

I disregard his words. "I think I'm someone who would be a better owner for that poor cat." I tell her.

" _What are you on?_ I thought you crazies were taught respect." Rose has the biggest stick up her rear I have ever heard of.

"Oh, dear. You have it all wrong. _The crazies_ , as your Aunt Dimentia calls them, are infact in another room. We aren't _the crazies_ , dear."

Rose swallows, hard.

I grip the bars of the cage and get in her face. _"We're worse."_

Rose takes a step back. "Well, whatever you are, you're not human. What kind of human sleeps in a _cage_?"

"The kind that's been pumped with so many drugs, we're too special for ordinary beds. We just like to sleep on the _dirty, hard, cold_ ground in our barefeet with no blankets. We like to live in the dark, eat twice a week and get drugged to the point of choking our fellow man." My voice as a chilling edge but is dripping with sarcasm.

"That's disgusting." She remarks.

"And we aren't even crazy." I say.

"I think I might just have you terminated." Rose flashes a wicked smile. "Or just terminate you myself."

"To quote Emilie Autumn," I begin. "You can take my life with concience clear. But you should still hear, that I if I burn, you will see, the fire in your mind when you sleep. And if I rise up in smoke around your eyes, you'll know it's me."

"Okay-"

"And the rain won't wash away the ashes underneath your nails today. Oh, no. It doesn't matter where you go, or what you do. Becuause if I burn... _so do you._ " I wink at her.

Dr. Nightshade walks in and kisses Rose on the cheek. "Rose, darling, how are the inmates today?"

 _"That one,"_ Rose points to me. "Has been giving me nothing but trouble. She's been so awful to me and very mean."

Dimentia steps up to the cage. "That's it, your sleeping with the crazies tonight."

I gulp, but I remain stoic.

Rose's eyes gravitate toward my wedding ring and I immediatley take my hands off of the bars.

Her eyes gleam and another vile grin appears on her face as the spoiled child turns to her aunt. "Aunt Dimentia, I want the ring."

Dimentia notices I still have it. "You're a sneaky thing, aren't you?" She asks.

I do not respond.

"Fine. Rose gets the ring, and you get to spend the night here, in the cage with your new little friend." She eyes a shivering Emily.

Rose looks at me. "I want it."

Hell no. No. No, not in a million years. "I don't care. You can't have it."

Richard then grabs me from behind and pushes my arm out of the cage.

I am desperatley trying to get both of them off of me.

She tries to pry open my left hand, perspiring. _"Give me the ring, bitch!"_ Rose yells.

I fight with everything I have, but everything I have is very little.

She takes it, slips it on her finger and walks off, squeezing the living hell out of Hernus.

Dimentia just stands there, smiling coyly.

I run at Richard, angrier than I have ever been. _"Oh, you bastard!"_ I cry, tears of rage stinging my eyes. _"Why the hell would you do that to me?"_

"I had to. You don't want to sleep in those pens, Morticia." He remains calm.

I punch him in the chest. "Are you fucking kidding me? _That's_ your excuse?"

Richard nods. "Yea. It is."

 _"I don't care where I would have had to sleep, Richard. I would have my husband with me!"_

"Oh, and you really think they would have let you keep it?"

I hit him again. "You do realize that's all I had left, do you not? That ring was the only thing allowing me to _sleep at night_. I know you don't have faith that we are ever going to get out, I know that you think that the world is pointless and there is no meaning in anything. But hear me when I tell you there was _meaning behind every. Single. Promise_ that that ring symbolized and there is _meaning behind my love for my husband_!"

He backs away. "I'm sorry."

 _"I doubt it."_ I say, colder than the iceberg that sank the Titanic. And then, against Emily's pleas, I am dragged away by Dr. Nightshade.

I am experimented on by Dr. Wintrhop, Dr. Ankerstein, George and Dr. Nightshade for hours. And then somehing strange occours.

Dr. Wintrhop grips my jaw and holds up a small medicine cup filled with clear liquid. _"Drink it."_ He orders.

"What's it going to do to me?" I ask him.

He sighs. "Get it through your head that nobody around here owes you any explainations and drink the damn thing, will you?"

I nod. Either way, I will have to. So, I swallow my pride and the drink, and I begin to drift off.

That medicine was meant to make me fall asleep, and it did, for a while. But there's such a thing as anesthesia awareness, and that is exactly what I am going through.

I see that they are just preforming the same experiments as usual, and I wonder why they wanted to put me under.

I can hear what the doctors are saying, but it takes me a while to fully understand what it is. I remain calm and I stay put. Even if I wanted to scream that I was experiencing this anesthesia awareness, I couldn't, so I instead listen to the conversation between Dr. Nightshade and a blurry figure.

"Dimentia..." I hear a hoarse voice. "He's my _brother_."

" _Not anymore._ Don't you care about me?" She asks him, in a tone of voice I have not yet heard from her... vulnerable.

"Of course I do." The figure comes into focus and I internally freeze. No, it isn't. It can't be.

"The plan is simple. All I want you to do is pose as a security guard, say you want to help them find that sleeping beauty in the chair."

The man gulps.

To confirm my suspicions, I listen on.

 _"And then?"_

"And then, I want you to lead them here. Into my trap, we'll be waiting for them." Dr. Nightshade rubs her hands together.

The man seems skittish. "But what if they..."

"Find out who you really are? We'll inject R37 into you. You'll only die if you combust when it comes to that stuff." Dr. Nightshade explains.

The man pauses. "If I do this... do you think maybe... maybe then we could be together?" He asks.

"I've toyed with the idea, dear. Now, will you do it?" Dr. Nightshade is making him think he has a choice in the matter.

 _"Yes."_ He practically is falling to his knees before her.

I want to scream now, to tell him no. But I am not even sure if it's really-

"Thank you, Fester."

Oh, god. It _is_ him. Gomez hasn't seen him in thirteen years. And here he is, agreeing to kill him.

My darling husband betrayed by his own brother. How will this work? Will he know it is him? What are they going to do? I don't care who he is, if he lays a hand on Gomez, I'll kill the man.

I want to cry out, to move, make a noise, tell him to stop and think about what he's doing but he... is gone.

Finally, it is over,

They leave, and I am not as tired, but am filled with vehement rage. I wonder if they ingected me with that Dorphalin because I want to smash everyone and everything including myself against a brick wall right now.

I tug at the rope and Dr. Nightshade, dishevled from controlling me, shoves me into the cage.

"Next time I'm calling for backup, Morticia!"

 _"Still calling me by my first name?"_ I ask, enraged.

"Oh not for long, _two fifty_!" She replies and storms off.

I lean against the bars of the cage and wait for this to subside. I have to control myself, I have to for-

Nevermind. Emily is sleeping, so she won't see me rocking back and forth and acting deranged.

Poor Evil, this is what she went through.

Hours pass, and it wears off. Left almost alone with my thoughts, I internally scream and want to shower just so I can have an emotional breakdown.

But soon, Ash falls asleep and I can cry.

I let silent tears pour down my pale cheeks. I cry for my ring, my ring that was the only thing giving me faith. I cry for the betrayl that will put my husband through even more hell, and I cry because I miss my entire family, and my darling children. Oh, how I cry. I cry for what has to be thirty minutes,. when I hear the pitter-patter of paws.

We have five minutes until the cage is suspended, and I see something jump into it with us.

Confused, I watch the figure move about the cage until it's red eyes land on me.

My silent tears quickly turn into those of joy when I see that it is Hernus!

I motion for him to come to me and he does, sitting in my lap.

He purrs, and looks up at me. In his mouth, is a roll. _A whole roll._ He is a smart little kitty.

I nuzzle him. _"Thank you, Hernus."_ I have never been more excited to see a roll in my life.

I eat a sixth of it, and save the rest. I have to share with the others. Even if I am thoroughly angry at Richard, he doesn't deserve to starve. The urge to eat his share is strong, but that isn't who I am, so I don't.

I stroke Hernus and show him the true affection we both lack during the daylight hours until I drift off.

I awaken in the morning, and I see that he is gone.

A bit disheartened, I wonder if last night was but a dream, a way to deal with the pain and hunger. But then, I see the small black hair, and the food I kept for morning. And I realize that I am wrong.

I also realize that when Gomez comes for me, I am going to need to get Emily out... and the cat that is a better friend to me than anyone else here.


	13. Security

Chapter 11: Security

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

The crew and I have been driving, fighting and searching for what feels like an eternity. Then again, everything feels like an eternity without her… my querida. A single breath, feels so drawn out, so prolonged, so… well, it is almost pointless. That woman is my purpose, and now my purpose is to get her back. And I cannot afford to think of what would happen if I failed- stop. Stop right there. I won't. I can't.

I am more thankful for Josh than he will ever realize. He pinpoints location after location, and now he has almost pinpointed our second to last location.

Waiting is agony, but easing the hurt is the notion that I am doing everything I can to get my black angel back. Everything, and then some. I do not care about eating, sleeping, anything anymore. My head fills with memories whenever I lay eyes upon anything black, anything macabre, anything different… anything beautiful. And in my head, the thoughts in my brain run rampant. They range from _Nothing, nothing on this earth is as enchanting as my Tish,_ to _God, I wish my darling were here. She would adore this,_ to _I am going to make those beasts pay for what they have done,_ and back to Tish again. Every thought always brings me back to Tish.

We dine on forest animals or any restaurants we pass, which are becoming less and less frequent, and we sleep, mainly in the woods, in the tents we purchased last we saw a city. However, we have broken into a few abandoned houses. We don't choose to sleep in the woods, but I will sleep anywhere if it means I can get to Morticia sooner.

Regina -as much as I'd like not to discuss her- and I have not formed some incredibly strong bond. What could one expect, after what she pulled? I stay out of her way and she stays out of mine. She is lucky that she has even earned a shay of my trust; but I will trust anyone if it means I can get to Morticia sooner.

We are not at all severely injured, and that I am grateful for. I am also grateful for the kind of people that my friends are. They know I am a shell of myself without my darling one, and they accept it. They have seen the way I am with her, they have seen her in all of her gorgeousness and the large, black, porcelain pedestal that I willingly put her on. The one man who knows that most is one of the best men I know, and that is Enrique. Despite the skirt-chasing ways of our youth, and of his… present, I understand what a truly good man he is at heart. He is always willing to listen to me bear my soul and pour my aching heart out. He is the only one besides myself who can coax me back into my tent, even on the coldest nights. And, yes, the chilly night air reminds me of my darling's pale, ice cold skin against my own. How I miss her.

Still, I remain strong (externally, anyways). While broken, I am fixable. Once I get mi corazón back, I will be fixed.

I drive down an elongated, dirt path in the middle of the woods. There are trees, small animals and rocks all around. But something tells me that there will not be any woods anymore soon, and for miles. But, perhaps I am wrong. It is not my gut telling me this, it is my brain. And right now, the brain of Gomez Addams wants to smash itself against a brick wall.

I have been trying to find a key point to one of our locations for the past half hour, at least.

"What did Josh say?" I ask Enrique. I am driving, and he sits in the passenger seat with my phone, reading any and all messages that have come through. Unfortunately, three of these messages have been from some blasted phone company that seems to want to suck the general public dry of their income.

"Turn left at the tree stump." Enrique looks up from his phone.

I roll my eyes. Which tree stump? Have we passed any? We are bound to have passed at least a few. "Could you be _a bit_ more specific?" I ask, no subtle hint of agitation in my accented voice.

 _Sure."_ Enrique replies, annoyed. He clears his throat, now beginning to read the full text from Josh. "Hey, huntey! I have been up like all night trying to pinpoint your locations. Hailie gets shitfaced drunk 'cause she misses Morticia so much! The kids are always asking where momma is, so you better bring her home soon. Oh, no pressure. _L.O.L?_ " He seems confused as to what this means, but continues on. "O-M-G, Esmeralda's such a great cook! And her coffee though! God, its great. But terrible. We miss the queen! Good luck bringing her home! We miss her! Oh, by the way, turn left at the tree stump."

My dark eyes cannot help but roll again. _"Thank you."_ I say, just to prove a point.

"Are you kidding me?" Regina leans her head against the window in the back seat. "It's the fucking woods, there are tree stumps everywhere!"

"Really?" My tone is sarcastic.

Regina scoffs.

"Enrique, text Josh and ask where this blasted tree stump is." I order.

Enrique looks out the window, then. "I don't have to."

"Why?" I question.

"Because-"

Enrique needn't explain. For, then, I see what Josh had texted me about. I make a left at a large, dilapidated sign that reads:

 _TrEe STuMp_

"Tell Josh we made a left." I revise the command, and say it with less irritation in my voice now that I have found the… tree stump.

" _That,_ I can do." Enrique winks and begins to text Josh.

We continue to drive, the path becoming narrower and the trees becoming fewer, only to return in a seemingly larger number a mile or so later.

"Enrique," I turn to him, not stopping driving. "Where do we make the right?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but, I cut him off. "Gomez-"

"Because I could have sworn it was at the stream." I say.

"Gomez-"

"Perhaps I'm wrong." I think again. "After all-"

 _Amigo, look out!"_ Enrique yells.

I turn to see a large man in the middle of the road, and I slam on the brakes.

The crew is propelled forward by the jolt, and the phone almost goes flying.

I turn to a startled Enrique, unsure of what to say.

Enrique takes a heavy breath. "Get out and see if he's alright."

I am about to go and help the man, but then I think better of it. "He may be resting."

"Resting? _Resting, in the middle of the road?_ " Enrique squints his eyes.

"Yes." I reply, nonchalantly.

"This isn't a time for jokes, Gomez." Enrique remarks.

I raise an eyebrow. "I wasn't joking."

Enrique rolls his eyes. _"Get out!"_

"You're right." I say and open the car door. "Who would take a nap in the woods this time of day?"

Enrique sighs as I exit the vehicle.

Under the cover of the trees, I walk towards the man. He lies there, still, but I do not fear I have hit him. The car stopped before he could be injured.

The stranger looks like just that, a stranger. Never before have I seen this man. However, there is something about him. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but in a way, I feel as though I know him. No, no, it can't be. He looks so unfamiliar. Yet, I have this feeling… I decide to ignore it.

I help him to his feet, and he is short, compared to me.

He seems to be five foot eight, and is pale, jaundice, almost. He has an organized mess of wavy, brown hair. It does not seem to suit him, fitting his face rather poorly. He is heavier, perhaps one hundred and eighty-five pounds? Not fat, but round. He wears dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and dark brown combat boots. His deep-set eyes are green, and large, larger than my own.

He stares at me, standing there, as if he is unsure what to say.

I slap his back, causing him to nearly lose his balance.

He says nothing as he regains his footing, and instead continues to stare at me.

"My apologies about the… incident, old man." I say to him.

"It's alright." The man's voice is hoarse.

"I'm Gomez Addams." I shake his hand.

"Nice." The man says, then makes a face, as though anything he says may be the wrong thing.

"What's your name, my friend?"

"My name?" He makes my question seem bizarre and unbelievable, as though it could have many different and complex answers. The stranger hesitates. "My name is… Fred."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Fred." I say.

Fred nods. "Yes, you, too." He replies. He straightens his back, then, in an attempt at becoming more serious. It works. "I used to be a cop, retired from the force early, about five years ago. Now, I'm a security guard."

"Really?" I ask, unsure of just where this is going.

Fred sighs. "I've seen the weapons in your car. Just where do you think you're going with them?"

I gulp. One wrong sentence, one wrong _word,_ and it is all over. The journey, the sleep deprivation, the hunger, the hopelessness, my poor querida, suffering in Iridis… will all be for naught. Should I tell him the truth? No, he wouldn't believe me. Would he? We have weapons terrorists use on a daily with us. How do we explain that- how do _I_ explain that away?

"Well, you see, Fred…" I think of an excuse.

"This should be good." He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, seemingly slightly unsure of himself, then crosses them again, leaning back on his feet.

I take a deep breath. I have to tell him. We have guns in the car. If he tries to arrest us… well, then, this will be the day I stop respecting our boys in blue, and change their name to _men in red._

"We are rescuing my wife." I begin. "An evil, corrupt, loathsome organization of inhuman creatures called Iridis Inc. has kidnapped her. And my crew and I need these weapons to get her back. I cannot lose her, she is the most incredible, important part of my life." I explain. "We have to conduct a raid, because I will do anything to save her, Fred. And so will the people I am working with. Now, I do not mean to sound hurtful, however," I grip his shoulders. "If anyone stands in my way, soon they will not be able to breath, let alone stand up long enough to stop me from getting to her."

Fred slowly moves his head up and down; taking in my words, I assume. "Relax, Gomez." He says, holding up his hands in defense. "I believe you." He tells me. "I know Iridis. I've been trying to track them down for years."

I am shocked, but pleasantly so, and I release my grip on the man.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, now, briefly. "Dimentia took my heart, too."

I feel terrible for him. The loss, the guilt, the hurt, the pure, unrelenting, shrill, bitter agony of it all. It sounds wonderful. But in this circumstance, it is anything but. I have suffered through two weeks without my Tish. I cannot imagine years. I could not take years.

I look into his large eyes. "Come with us." I say.

"What?" Fred appears excited about the prospect. "Could I?"

There is something about him, something I still cannot fully understand. When he looks at me, and I, at him… when he speaks to me, and I, to him… it feels like we know one another, at least on my end. But, we can't. It is impossible, I have never known a Fred. Ha; brothers in another lifetime, I suppose.

I smile, happy we now have another member of our crew with combative experience. "I would be happy to have you, old man!" I cannot hide the slightly excited anticipation in my voice. "Come on." I take him back to the car, and he sits in the back seat, next to a startled Regina.

 _Are you nuts?"_ Regina's eyes enlarge to the size of the golf balls that I shoot from my window in the morning.

I cock my head, considering her words. If I am, it is old news. If I am not, I have been lied to my entire life. "Crew," I begin, ignoring her. "This is Fred."

There are variations of _Hi, Fred,_ said throughout the car.

Fred gulps, as if he has just been welcomed into the boy scouts. A bit disheartening, but perhaps he is just antisocial; my kind of people.

"He is a security guard, and he is assisting us on rescuing Tish." I tell them. I wink at Fred in the back seat, through the car mirror. "Fred, tell them what you told me."

Fred swallows, hard. "My name is Fred." He practically blurts out, only a bit slower than a blurt. A slurt, perhaps?

I sigh, he is not the most charming fellow, but I like him. "Dimentia took his heart as well." I explain for him.

Acid is the first to speak to him. She leans over Dantè and shakes Fred's hand. "Pleasure to meet ya, Fred." She winks one of her electric blue eyes at him. "Don't die."

Fred was about to speak, but shut his mouth at Acid's tip and began to start a new sentence. "I'll keep that in mind." Fred says.

I then heard my phone buzz, and as I turn the key in the car, Enrique turns to meet my own dark eyes.

I begin to drive on at his words: "Josh pinpointed the location."

We drove for hours, fighting once again, and winning, as usual. But of course, more than half of the agents rose up. Worrisome, it was, it still is. However, if we continue to do what we are doing, I have full confidence that we will make it to my angel of darkness, soon.

Our tents have been pitched by a clearing, tree-wise, a stream being a few short miles away. We have been sitting up on dilapidated logs all evening, and talking by the large fire we made about a half hour ago.

And as we talk, I cannot help but internally inquire about this stranger, now friend. His intentions are not brought to question in the court of my subconscious, but rather, his being. His personality is unusual, but familiar to me, somehow. He tells jokes at inappropriate times, and shuts up when everyone speaks. However, while his jokes are misunderstood by most, I happen to enjoy them. I feel used to his antics in that department. Odd, considering we first met mere hours ago.

Dantè and Acid have had their arms around one another for a while now, happy in the knowledge that the other was unharmed. And alive. And alright. I cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy amongst the happiness for my friend.

I miss my Tish, seeing this, it… oh, if only mi hermosa diosa were here. I would hold her in my arms, devour that beautiful neck of hers, let her snuggle up against me while she sat on my lap, keep her warm… keep her safe. My heavy heart and cluttered mind can turn anything good now, into a memory, a beautiful memory that reminds me again that my darling querida, the woman I swore on everything I have that I would protect… is being held captive by demented nonhumans, and most likely being tortured. I cannot imagine what they are doing to her in there. And God, that hurts. It hurts more than thousands of daggers, stabbing my bleeding heart and twisting about, reminiscent of the way she used to when I would pin her down and let my animalistic lust and hunger eat her alive.

But, I say nothing. I smile. I laugh. I pretend. And every single person, including Fred, can almost undoubtedly see through my poor façade

Dantè grabs Acid's ass.

I raise an eyebrow. "Perhaps you two should retire?" I suggest.

Acid rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

"No, I much prefer speaking." I smirk. "But thank you for the suggestion."

"Your charm makes me hate you." Acid half-joked.

"Ouch?" I am unsure whether or not she meant that offensively or not.

Acid knows it was a bad comeback. "Yea." She nods, as if trying to convince herself otherwise. "So, there."

"That was a poor comeback." Santiago says. "With a name like Acid, you would think you would possess more venom."

 _Mmm. Cute."_ Acid responds, sarcastically. "With an ego like yours, you would think you would possess more length to back it up."

 _Shit."_ Dantè kisses her cheek. "Nice one."

We laugh (despite nothing feeling enjoyable to me without my darling one, but they are trying for me, so I have to try for them, even if I am doing a poor job).

Juan Diego then leans in, extremely close to the fire, on the verge of teetering. "I remember the time we accidentally started a fire in the Holy Gospel Church." He reminisces.

Regina scoffs, seeing as Juan Diego was now teetering on his log. _"I remember the time you fell into the fire and burned your face off."_

"That hasn't happened yet." Just as Juan Diego says this, he falls, missing the fire by merely a hair.

Enrique chuckles. _"Yet,_ amigo, _yet."_

Our talking continues, even until sunset. We make incredible jumps from discussing the past and present. But my only concern is the future. The only thing I have to look forward to is being reunited with mi corazón. As sure as the sky will soon be black, I will soon be up for hours, thinking, and fighting a losing battle against the heartbroken tears that want to fall.

However, as of now, I have just learned that Fred speaks ten languages.

I sigh, in a melancholy reminiscence of my lost brother. "I once knew a man who spoke twelve."

Fred's expression is worry. But soon, the expression of hurt on his face is unmistakable. Why? That feeling is coming back again, but, again, I ignore it.

"Yes, well…" Fred clumsily stands up, and gives a little bow, nearly tripping but soon, finding his balance. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." We all bid him, in an interesting pattern of discord.

"Good… goodnight." Fred says again, sleepily, yet briskly walking to his tent, and stepping in, retiring, just as the sun sets.

Soon, everyone else follows Fred's lead. Everyone else, except me, of course.

As I do every night, I sit up. I stare into the fire, undying, roaring, burning, passionate, like my love for my Tish.

Everything I have, everything I am is because of her, and her love. She is not just the center of my universe, she _is_ my universe. Losing her would be losing everything to me. She is my love, my life, my purpose. My black goddess is the reason for me to live, to wake up every morning. I intentionally wake up before her, just so I can watch those beautiful eyes of hers flutter open, more graceful than a flock of vampire bats. I cannot keep my hands or my eyes off of her. Those enticing lips, her bewitching gaze, her elegance, her personality, her magnificent body… everything. That is what she is to me.

Every second of every day and night, I try to show that woman how much I adore her. The kisses, the caresses, the whispers of undying love and terms of endearment in three languages, at least. I do it, not only because I adore her, but because I need her to know how very much I do. It is one thing to love someone, it is another to show them that. And every opportunity I get, I take it. No matter what, I always remind myself how lucky I am to be the keeper of that woman's heart. I take that seriously, I never would do anything to hurt her or it, or jeopardize my position or her trust for me. She is the most precious thing to me, the best thing that has ever happened and will ever happen to me.

I know Iridis is at fault for our position. But, late at night, and/or in the light corners of my mind, I cannot help but feel personally responsible. The guilt eats at me like a bloodthirsty great white shark, ripping the broken flesh from the bone(s) of its unwilling victim.

I swore to that woman that I would protect her with my life (and anybody else's, for that matter); so, how could I, as her protector, allow something like this to happen? Then, to learn, she is suffering because I didn't heed a senseless warning? I feel like a fool. I feel unworthy of the trust I know that she still has in me. I do not deserve her, but I have her. I have her and I try to be the best I can be to satisfy her. She brings out the _me,_ in me, but the best part of it. And I try, with everything I have, to bring out the best in her. And she tells me I do. And, I believe her. But I cannot believe myself when my head says I am guiltless, but my heart tells me this would never have happened if I had just walked with her that night. Snuck out early, just to check if she were alright, come out just a minute earlier, saved her, taken her inside, made her a hot cup of henbane tea, held her close under our satin covers, massaged her shoulders just the way she likes, let her lean into my chest and thanked the gods that she was with me. But, alas, I had to stay inside. I had to sit, and stay. Like a good husband, because I adore her. Like a good husband, but a bad protector. And that thought, even if slight, feels like a thousand-ton pile of bricks atop my already heavy heart. It is not painful. _It hurts._

I let my thoughts carry me and my heart farther as my eyes intently focus on the orange blaze before me.

"Gomez?" I register the fact that my name has just been questioningly called, however, I feel as though I am not present, and merely a brief observer over the blissless misery that is currently the life of Gomez Addams.

"Gomez?" Enrique sits down next to me, putting a hand on my knee.

This is the push that shoves me back into the game of my existence, and I turn my head to meet my best friend's heavily concerned eyes.

"Hola, amigo." My tone is unintentionally listless.

Enrique shakes his head. "Dios mio, Gomez."

I don't know what to say, but perhaps it is because my body is rejecting any and all forms of sleep, at the moment.

"Gomez, you have to get some sleep." Enrique says. "You've been out here for two hours."

"What does that have to do with the price of cyanide at the drug store?" I ask him, not following his logic. Of course my night is sleepless, my Tish isn't in my arms.

Enrique sighs. "Gomez, I'm worried about you."

"I know." I nod. He is a good friend. "I'm worried about Tish."

Enrique pats my leg. "I know." He then speaks again. "I understand."

For some reason, this line, this line which is supposed to bring me comfort does nothing but make my blood boil with infuriation. Understand? He understands? _Does he, now?_

I stand, shaking my head. I look him in the eyes, my own, illuminated by the light of the still-strong fire. "No." I say. _"You don't."_ I take a deep breath. "I see her in everything, Enrique. Everything reminds me of her. _Every time_ we pass by or go through a deserted town or forest, filled with fog, all I can think of is how much Morticia would love it, and how she is not here because she is being held captive and tortured. _Every time_ I see a rose, all I can feel is those soft, blood red lips of hers. _Every time_ I get scratched in battle, all I can concentrate on is the memories I have of her long nails digging into my chest. When the sun sets, the day ends and it gives way to the night my Tish loves so much, all I can remember is that she cannot lay eyes upon it, she cannot enjoy it, she may not even know it is here, because those beasts stole her away from me in the middle of it. I see her beauty in the rain, and her darkness in the dismal, memories in the day, dreams in the night." I step closer to him, impassioned and angered. " _My guilt eats me alive,_ amigo. My love haunts me in a heartbroken way that I am _not_ used to. Whenever alone, all I can hear are the sounds that I miss or the sounds that I fear are coming out of her when she screams because of the brutality they are subjecting my Tish to." I am in his face now, crying. " _I swore to protect her, Enrique!_ I would _die_ for that woman, _and now I fear that she may die because of me!_ I couldn't live at all, let alone live with _myself_ if she got hurt. And as we speak, she is. Nothing I do feels like enough, and everything I do brings me hurt. I see her in everything black, bleak and beautiful. My heart _aches_ just _looking_ at the moon. It cannot hold a candle to her enchantment. But, she can't hear me say that, because for all I know…" I cannot even bring myself to say it. "Until the day that your conscience _eats you from the inside out, your love begs you to reunite with your other half from the outside in;_ until the day that you _cannot sleep without your only and she is being held captive, miles away in God knows what sort of conditions,_ and you _cannot breathe without praying to God that while you can't see her, she is doing the same because losing her would mean losing purpose._ Losing her would mean the end of me, and my life, and everything we have built together." My tears refuse to stop coming. "Until the day, that _you are_ _filled with reminiscence of the stolen past every other second, and every other, you are filled with hopelessness and dread, and desire to mercilessly destroy those who you know laid a hand on your wife, the woman that you promised you would never… let anything happen to."_ I am getting choked up, but I keep going, and my eyes burn holes into my friend's soul. **_Then,_** _you can tell me you understand."_

Enrique says nothing, at first. He waits, patiently, like a good friend, until I sit back down on the log next to him, letting the remainder of my tears fall. I do not believe I have ever cried so much.

"I love her, Enrique." Is all I can say. I am not even looking at him. "I love her."

Enrique pats my back. "I know. I cannot imagine how you feel, amigo. But, I am sorry."

I give a bitter laugh, my tears slowly subsiding. "I was never a religious man until I started worshipping Morticia. And now my heart, soul and body are a shrine to that woman."

Enrique chuckles. "I believe you. You did not need to prove your love, to me or to her."

We finally look at each other.

He continues. "Morticia knows how much you adore her, Gomez. She thinks you _do_ deserve her, while I'm inclined to disagree."

I laugh. " _Bastard."_ I playfully slap him.

"Seriously, Gomez. The first time I saw you two together, I could feel two things when in the room with you: love and _severe_ sexual tension." Enrique speaks, honestly. "I know you love her. She knows you would do anything for her. And I, having been your best friend since childhood," He smiles at me. "Could not be happier for you, or more proud of the man you became with her." He pauses. "No more strip clubs, old man." Enrique hits my arm.

"Never again."

"Good man." Enrique sighs. "Better than me."

"You're not married." I justify.

"I almost was. What happened in Vegas nearly didn't stay there three times." Enrique says. "With _three_ different women."

 _You rascal."_ I roll my eyes at him, giving a genuine laugh. I then raise an eyebrow. "Only three?"

"Get some sleep, former _youngest pimp in Massachusetts._ " Enrique sits up straighter. "If you don't, you won't be rested enough to save your Tish."

"I know." I shake my head, still unsure of how I plan to go about a process, now seeming so foreign to me. Sleep.

Enrique sees that I move, not. "And if you can't do it for her-"

I stop him right there, becoming dead serious, once again. "I can do _anything,_ for her."

"Alright." Enrique needs no more convincing than the passionate look in my bloodshot eyes, intensifying in the severely undying blaze. "Then get some sleep."

I give him a handshake-hug. "Gracias, amigo."

Enrique nods. "De nada."

I then begin to walk to my tent, and drift off into an uneasy sleep, until dreams of my darling fill my head, just as Enrique puts out the fire.

 _I am almost there, mi hermosa diosa. I adore you, and I am almost there._

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I have been missing now, for more than a week. And it is agony.

We are injected with drug after drug that does God knows what to our insides. We are fed by only images of toast or water that our minds create. Our minds, our sharp minds that this organization seeks to destroy.

As much as I hate to admit it, they are not doing a poor job. Seeing Rose, when I do, makes my stomach turn. Looking at my bare hand, makes my heart bleed. Thinking of Gomez… makes the tears fall, when I am alone, or when everyone else is asleep due to exhaustion or the poison we are pumped with every other hour.

This morning, I showed the remaining roll to the group, and I was the queen for a solid five seconds. I broke the roll up for everyone, as I knew that if I allowed either Richard or Evil to do so, they would most likely keep it for themselves; and if Ash or Emily were in charge, they would be attacked and overpowered. Then, after it was eaten, they could care less about me or Emily, once again.

I am still as angry as ever at Richard. _How dare he?_ I now understand what _sleeping with the crazies,_ means. I also know that I would rather take my chances with different sleeping arrangements (as if my current quarters were so comfortable) than lose the physical symbol of my love. It was the last material thing I had… now, it is gone. It is gone, and losing its gleam being worn on the finger one of the worst people I have ever met.

Richard had no right to do what he did to me, and neither did Rose. Thus, I am scorned by and furious at the both of them. They can force me to talk to Rose if they wish, but they cannot force me to breath a word to Richard, and so, I hardly ever do.

My determination to leave this place before we all die here (and we won't; I refuse), is stronger than a rolling army tank through the battle-infested, war-torn village. But, it is unrequited by my cellmates.

I say that we are going to get out, they tell me that it is never going to happen. I tell them that Gomez is indeed coming, and Evil proceeds to tell me that my husband is either lying to me, or doesn't care or… at one point, Evil (when she got injected with Elphlanin637) tried to convince me that he was dead. I was inconvincible, and I was also attacked. She ripped a couple strands of hair out, bit my shoulder and gave a small apology after the drugs wore off. I accepted it. It was not her, this, I know. It was the drugs.

The drugs hurt us, badly. They fuck with our insides to the point where we vomit black, and cough blood. They make our eyes roll back in our head, or make us want to murder our cellmates. The muscle weakness or soreness may not sound terrible, but it is severe, and when combined with nausea, exhaustion and depression, one may very well want to end it right then. And one finds that alas, that option is nonexistent. There is nothing in here to hurt yourself with but the bars that enclose us and our own bare hands.

I want to scream out loud just thinking about it, but I do no such thing. I instead, eyes closed, lean back against the bars which worsen the severity of my soreness, but it is all I have. It is all I have but the ground of our cell, and that, is another thing that creates a serious sense of longing for my husband. I miss him terribly, and need him desperately. What I wouldn't give for the feel of his strong, protective arms around me, holding me and making me comfortable. The heat of his body enveloping me; my cold skin, instantly warming against him, both he and my position making my soreness and hurt melt off and float away from my body and my heart.

But, I cannot help what I cannot change. And right now, I cannot change much, if anything at all.

Emily is the only one in the cage with me at the present, as Ash, Richard, and Evil have been getting drugged for the past two hours.

Emily has only gotten back from experimentation mere minutes ago, and the drugs are finally starting to wear off.

First, she ran about the cage like a madwoman, pushing me back when I tried to help. Then, she rocked back and forth in the middle of the room while muttering to herself about her deceased father. That, I relate to, all to well. It was probably the first thing I did when I lost my father. That hurt me more than any needle ever could.

Now, Emily sits next to me, as I hold her hand, and use raise my aching arm to push a strand of hair from her glossy, big, blue eyes.

She takes a deep breath. "You can let go of my hand." She tells me. "I know you're sore."

I squeeze her hand, causing me pain but her, relief. "No, dear, I'll be fine." I lie. None of us are fine and none of us will be until we get out of here.

"Are you sure?" Emily asks, concerned.

I open my eyes. "Yes, Emily. I'm sure."

Emily nods. "Alright." She says. "I'm sorry I pushed you, Morticia."

I take a deep breath, exhausted. "It's alright. It was the drugs." I am far too used to saying this, to her, to Evil, to Ash… to myself. "Not you."

"Thank you." Emily replies. "You should get some rest." She leans against the bars, pushing her golden hair over her shoulders. "We've had a long morning and-"

"Inmates!" Dimentia calls, sounding sourly chipper. Possibly the most accurate oxymoron for her tone that there is.

I look over to the door of our cage.

Dr. Nightshade stands before the cage, key and clipboard… and wrist leash, in hand.

I am surprised neither Emily nor myself heard Dr. Nightshade's loud, black heels click-clacking as she walked to our cage. I suppose we didn't want to. I suppose our brains registered the noise and decided it best not to send any signals about it, not giving us warning so as not to hurt us. I could blame it on that, or the drugs our bodies rebel against, reject and react to. The drugs she and her team of demonic doctors administer us on a daily, and nightly. We can only tell by the raising of the cage. I can tell by that, and by Hernus (last night, anyway).

I say nothing to her, and neither does Emily.

"Say _hello_ to me." Dimentia orders.

"Hello." I say, listlessly.

 _Pathetic."_ Dr. Nightshade grimaces, and looks down at her clipboard. Her eyes fall on me. "Morticia," She holds up my wrist leash. "Over here."

Emily looks at me, and I know she wishes that I didn't have to leave her. But I do. I do, and we both know it.

I stand and walk over to the door of the cage, too tired to argue, saving my fight and my energy for when it will count.

Emily leans against the non-walls of our cage, and I watch a tear roll down her cheek. But no more follow. She is learning. _It makes me sick._

My wrist leash is tied on and I am lead down the long corridors, down flights of stairs and into the basement.

I should not be used to this. I do not like being used to this. But I am.

But being used to this does not mean that it is any less wrong, and I know it.

"Hello, black beauty." Dr. Winthrop smirks.

His grin is vile, and makes me want to vomit up my imaginary food. But, I hold my (most likely black) bile back and am forced into the chair.

Dr. Ankerstein is in the room as well. She smiles at me, oddly but not unusual, for her. "Hello, Morticia." Her voice is unlike Dimentia's, it is almost loopy, drawn out words and not high pitched but not bass-sounding. "Now, be a good girl for Dr. Winthrop."

"As if I have a choice." I say. Tired, yes. Not myself? Not yet.

 _Shut up."_ Dr. Nightshade snaps.

"Oh, be nice to her, Dimentia." Dr. Winthrop strokes my cheek, and it takes all of my strength not to bite his hand off.

"Why should she?" I ask. "You aren't."

Dr. Winthrop grips my chin to make me look him in the eyes. "Oh, come now, black beauty. That isn't true." He says, and lets his clammy hand run down my cold, pale, exposed arm. But my already icy flesh feels thousands of degrees icier at the touch of his hand. He stops at my hand, my _bare_ hand. "Ah, what's this?" He raises his eyebrow.

I refuse to gulp and give him the satisfaction of making me uncomfortable. "You know perfectly well what it is." I say, coldly.

"You're a smart one." Dr. Winthrop brings his face to close to my ear. When he whispers into it, I get unpleasant goosebumps. "You've got a special place in my heart."

"I'm of no real value to you." I reply. "If you had a heart at all, you'd let us go."

"Really?" Dr. Winthrop fills a vile with green, thin-looking liquid. "Good people are always so sure they're right."

I am stoic, but still, I speak. "No. I have known plenty of good people. And they knew when they were wrong."

"Ah." Dr. Winthrop won't take his eyes off of me, and keeps looking down at my bare ring finger. "How does it feel to look like an unmarried woman, black beauty?"

I say nothing.

"Do you still… _feel_ married?" He spider-walks his fingers over my shoulder and to my neck, stroking it.

"I _feel_ ill." I retort.

"Oh, not yet, you don't." Dr. Winthrop smirks. "But, you will." He briefly looks up and over at Dr. Nightshade. "Who has that ring, anyway, Dr. Nightshade?"

Dimentia smiles, wickedly, at me, when she answers him. "My niece. She wanted it."

"Now, that isn't fair." Dr. Winthrop pouts. "You get what you want, Rose gets what she wants…" He looks down at me. "I never get what I want."

"You will." Dr. Nightshade tells him.

Dr. Winthrop growls, and I can feel his hand slowly travel lower. "You've been promising me that for too long."

His hand travels lower, until he wraps his arm around my waist and slips his hand into my shirt.

Getting nightmarish flashbacks, I yelp.

He then leans in and kisses me. My hands, tied down, I do what I hope will get him to stop. I bite down, hard on his lip, so hard that it is as though he has just gotten his lip pierced… all over. Blood gushes out of it, and when he does not stop right away, I pull, hard, and he screams.

Dr. Winthrop instantly pulls away and hold his lip, blood soaking the lengthened sleeves of his white lab coat. He sends a rage-filled expression my way. "Bitch!" He spits blood onto the floor. "Don't you ever do that again!"

That, _that…_ is unacceptable. I will, whenever I can, defend myself against that kind of abuse. _That…_ I refuse to take that. "Don't touch me." My voice is as soft as it usually is, but nonetheless a warning.

Dr. Winthrop has a vengeance burning in his eyes, and he makes a fist in his hand. _"You-"_

"Get on with it, Albert." An annoyed Dimentia could seem to care less about Dr. Winthrop's bleeding lip.

Dr. Winthrop spits out more blood, and I can see that I bit him hard. He is on the verge of tears. He grabs the vile off of the unsanitary table and roughly injects it into my arm.

I feel as though I am looking at what my body is doing, and all I can do is observe and feel whatever affects it. I am shaky, I feel extremely hot, and I begin convulsing. A rag is thrown over my chest and I am too overcome with sickness and unbearable heat to understand why. Then, I realize, I am vomiting on myself.

I am in the chair and injected, and harassed, and taunted about my lost ring, until late at night. I am fully spent, and nauseous. I feel as though I have just been mauled by a bear, spit out, carried off by the sharp talons of a vulture who mistook me for dead, and dropped into a gorge of gaged rocks when he realized that I was in fact, alive. That is how I have decided to describe it.

I am dragged upstairs by Dimentia, and as hurt, and beat to hell as I am, I remain steady on my feet. How? I will never know. But I feel I will be thinking this to myself more often, now.

Shoved back into the cage, I am. I see that the rest of my cellmates look as tired as I. I feel for them, truly. I feel the same as they do. I understand. I cannot help, not really. Not yet.

I lean against the bars again. My knees are pulled against my chest, as usual, and I let my hair down. Sometimes I do at night, and I put it back up in the morning or whenever I leave the cage (which is not often).

Emily looks up and smiles. "I was worried about you."

I give a bitter laugh… almost like Evil. It terrifies me. "Thank you, Emily. Did they…?" I don't want to ask if they took her too, I would hate to upset her.

She shakes her head. "Not since before you."

I nod. "Good."

Emily leans against the bars next to me, and I take her hand. She leans a head on my shoulder.

I let her. Am I hurting? Yes. Would I hurt more if I hurt her? Yes.

Emily is holding back tears, I can tell. And as much as I am all for being strong, and as strong as I am and I know I have to be, for both her and my sanity… I can't stand this emotionlessness in her. A stoic nature is a very real trait of mine. But not of her. So, I do what Gomez did the night we met, when I was refusing to cry over the loss of my father, and the hurt of my mother.

"Cry." I say.

Emily looks up at me, not moving her head. "What?"

"No, you have to. Emily, I refuse to let this place harden you." I explain. "I know what a sensitive, emotional person you are. Be strong, but please, be Emily."

That, is enough, as Emily then begins to cry. "What are they doing to us?" Her question is quiet, and rhetorical.

I stroke her hair. "It's alright." I say.

Evil rolls her eyes, and I cast her an annoyed glance.

Richard says nothing.

Ash looks at her, sympathetically.

I kiss Emily's forehead. "We're going to get out of here."

Evil scoffs. _"Right."_ Sarcasm oozes from her voice. "Hubby's coming and that's that, right? No matter what anyone tells you, you can't seem to get it through your head that _nobody's coming._ " She shakes her head, then says, quietly, "They never do."

Emily buries her head in my shoulder.

"We are never getting out of here. I hate to break it to you, Em." Evil leans in. "But no, we're going to be here until we die a painful, slow death at the end of a short life."

Emily gulps, afraid.

I look away from her, briefly and turn to Evil. _"Yes. We are."_ I say.

 _No."_ Evil is unmoving and unmoved. _"We aren't."_

"Are you serious?" I narrow my eyes. " _Why?_ _Why do you do this?_ Why do you act so strong, only to shrivel up in front of those doctors? Why do you have no faith that we are going to get out of this?" I look her right in her sea green eyes. _"We are, damn it."_

"Why?" There goes that damned bitter laugh again. "I'm Evil, that's fucking why." She puts one leg up, while the other lies on the ground, horizontally.

I shake my head. "No, you're not. You're broken."

"Excuse me?" She cocks her head.

"Something broke you. This place, perhaps?" I ask although I doubt, as I feel it is something more.

"Well, you're wrong." Evil snaps at me. "Pretty hard to break a girl who was born broken." She waits for me to interrupt, but, I don't. She continues. "My parents were one of the first fifteen inmates at Iridis. It was built from a vacant asylum in 1965, where the inmates were abused." She rolls her eyes. "They think they had it bad, they wouldn't last a day here." Evil remarks. "Most of the cages weren't built yet, so a lot of the inmates _slept with the crazies._ My parents were a couple of those inmates. They were subjected to drugs, abuse, horrour upon horrour. If the doctors ever had a good day -which was rare- and decided to spare them, _the crazies_ certainly wouldn't.

"My parents were drugged and beaten until my mother got pregnant. They never wanted me." Her face goes blank in remembrance, yet she continues on. "They were moved to their own cage, where they were studied. They were frightened that I was not even my father's child. They thought I could very well be a product of one of the guys in the pens that raped my mother.

"The doctors tested and found that I was, in fact, my fathers. They resented me and the life they so inadvertently created. I was the reason that they were studied, and now, that they couldn't leave. They were making an escape plan until my mother got pregnant with me. They were moved to the cage, and had no way of escaping. They were monitored both day and night, except they didn't raise the cages then. And they hated me more with each day that passed.

"They stopped drugging my mother, but my father got double because of the sadists that administered their drugs. When I was born, they named me Evil. They named me Evil because I was, especially to them. I ruined their lives. They could not escape with a screaming child, nor did they want to.

"We were transferred back to the pens, and my parents fled that night. They somehow managed to escape, but they never came back for me." She lets a tear roll down her fair cheek. "The doctors told me everything the day I was old enough to understand. _The day I turned eleven._

"Now, security is tighter than ever before, because of that one escape. I have been here all my life, and I learned a long time ago that nobody was coming for me." Evil says. "This, is all I know. And for so long, it has been all any of us know." A melancholically bitter laugh, now, as she has just finished crying. "Ha!" She leans in. " _And the really sick part,_ is that even if we ever did get out, we could never survive out in the world because we have been in here so long, that we couldn't adapt to a damn thing." She leans back again. "So, no. I don't believe we are ever going to get out of here. And yes, I was born here. And born evil."

I am shocked. But now, I understand. Of course she believes we won't ever get out. I say the only thing I can. I look at her, sincerely. "I'm sorry."

Evil scoffs. "I don't want your pity." She says. "Ya know, that's what your problem is. You coddle Emily, because you pity Emily, and Ash and some deep part of you might even pity Richard. The last fucking thing I want you to do is pity me. I don't need your pity. And I don't want it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Pity you?" Then, I am expressionless, yet my words are anything but. "I don't pity you, Evil." I tell her, honestly. "I do not pity Emily, or Ash… _certainly not_ Richard. And I do not pity you." I say. "I don't pity anyone, for anything they have to go through in this world. This world, it is terrifying, it does hurt, it is light and scary, and dark, and beautiful. Half of the people in this world are looking for pity and that is something I just don't have. If you knew where I come from, you might understand that. And as much as I wish my late teenage years were different, the one thing I never came from, from the day I was born, was pity. Pity gets you nowhere. I don't coddle Emily, I comfort her because she is afraid. I do not pity her. _Pity,_ is allowing anything because you went through something traumatic. _Sorry,_ means that what you went through was awful, but I do not condone the way that you can treat the others in this cell." I lean in, close, and serious. " _I. Do not. Pity you. I. Have never. Pitied anyone._ And I will not start now."

Evil is locked in my gaze.

"I just feel," I continue. "That you have never gotten a sincere apology for what has been done to you in your life. So here it is, Evil." I narrow my eyes, looking into hers. " _No one_ deserves what you go through nor what you went through, it is horrendous, and _I. Am._ ** _Sorry._** "

I see her fall apart before my eyes then. She cries, silently, but says nothing.

I lean back, not expecting her to throw her arms up and hug me from the other side of our cage. And she doesn't.

She does speak, though. It is late, and the other three members of our cage are asleep when she opens her mouth again.

"Thank you." I hear Evil say, quietly, her voice a bit hoarse from the silent crying.

I nod, happy that finally, even if for a short while, I have gotten through to her. "I meant it."

Evil gives a small smile.

I smile back.

Something changes in Evil, as if a small, tiny piece of the weight she carries has been lifted. "Can I tell you a secret?" She asks, reminiscent of one of our first conversations that went quite poorly.

"Yes." I say, her line from our conversation.

She shakes her head. "I don't belong here."

"Can I tell you a bigger one?" I ask, no pretend gleam in my eyes.

"Yes." She says.

"None of us do." I reply. "But the real secret, dear…" I sigh. "We're getting out of here."

Evil's head leans against the bars. "I wish I could believe that." She begins to drift off.

I sigh, my gut telling me that some part of hers, does, too. "As do I." Is all I get to say, before she falls to sleep.

Not a moment before the cover come over our cage, does Hernus leap into it. And with him, is a roll.

I take him in my arms as the cage raises up, and pet him, deciding to save the roll for the morning, so I can eat with my cellmates.

All I can think of is Gomez, and my family. I miss them, I need my husband more than I need air. But I know he is coming. He has to, or we are all in trouble.

I then begin to fall asleep, as my cellmates have, this cat in my arms, being my only security as I try to sleep through another night in this atrocious prison.


	14. Imhuman Experiments

Chapter 12: Inhuman Experiments

 _With each passing day, I grew more weary. I watched the endless end of time tic by, by the miniature, old clock. I never pictured it would ever stop with that noise I had become so used to. Never did I imagine that in a sense of the word, time would stop. But, low and behold, it did._

 _Sitting at my window ledge, I was. Watching the snow fall like a soft, white blanket covering the ground. Now one must remember, I was but a child. I knew not that I was really a stranger to the world and the light that constantly tries to overpower dark, or the true evil that lurks behind beautiful shadows. I didn't know that time came to an end._

 _I loved that clock, but it was of no value to us after we could not get it fixed. I suppose I learned two lessons that day. I learned that everything (I thought) will come to a definite end. I learned that once something is truly broken, it is irreparable. That is what made me value the few relations I had with people so much._

 _I suppose that clock, although not grand in size, was grand in the long run. I suppose that, perhaps, it's purpose was to make an impact on one of many of the world's inhabitants, and so it did. I did not change my life in any sort of way, but in every crisis I remembered that this, too, shall pass. For if time can come to an end, anything can... I thought._

 _~The Story of The Fallen, Grand Old Clock_

 _Morticia Addams_

 _October 1st, 1978_

 _Continuation:_

 _Gomez,_

 _I found, looking back at my stories, that I wrote this on your birthday, before I ever even knew you. I thought something wonderful of it instantly. You see, I contradicted that statement I made earlier in my head when I first looked into your eyes. My morose code, as I called it, was indeed that everything is with end. But, oh, how wrong I was. Mon amour, my love for you... it is something that will never end, and greater than any power in this world. I know I am not as vocal in my words as I am in my actions, but you understand that and you adore me. And I adore you, as well, my darling. I love you more, mon cher, than I ever have loved or ever will love anything or anyone in this world. I want you to know that no matter what happens in our life, I will always be with you. Through health and sickness, better for worse, and through every unhappy happiness that this life has to offer. Life may be with end, but our love... never._

 _Happy birthday, my darling._

 _-Je t'aime, Tish._

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I clutch the letter that I have brought with me everywhere since we started traveling, close to my heart. That, equipped with my wedding ring, makes me feel Tish is with me. When she is vocal, her words are beautiful. While, normally, I am the one to shower her in presents and passionate love letters, and she is the one to let her elegant, wild actions explain how she feels about me, she sometimes lets loose and writes to me. Morticia's writing is magnificent or, _magnifique_ , as she would say.

We are getting closer and closer to _Iridis_ every day, I can feel it. I can also feel an incredible amount of hurt, guilt and sadness that it is March 25th, and this is my caritas's second week missing.

Wednesday, Pugsley and Máma are not permitted to text, as I do not want them being used against me if _Iridis_ captures me, or my phone. However, they are permitted to call and they call me every night, or try to. I miss them, and I know my poor Tish hasn't seen the little rascals in the entirety of these two weeks. And it probably kills her.

How could they do that to her, to me, to my children? To Máma, or Hailie or Josh? To anyone? What kind of creature is that Dimentia? I could very easily say she crawled up from hell but not only would that insult the demons, I am sure as I am alive that Satan doesn't even want her there.

We have not lost any men, but Dantè's knee is badly banged up, and he can no longer run fast or jump. As a result, we have made him the designated driver. I am concerned for my friend, do not misunderstand. However, the group and I decided Dantè may slow things down with his injury, and we do not leave a man behind. No, instead, we put him in the driver's seat.

We haven't seen another drive-thru, so we have been hunting for food and are very good at it. I have consumed rabbit, squirrel and deer. But on the journey to save Morticia, we only eat small animals, as we haven't the time nor the means to cook a deer.

I load my gun in the passenger seat while Dantè drives, as another location has been pinpointed and we are anticipating a fight. This location is in a deserted town, on the edge of our Massachusetts.

We haven't seen a town or city for days, and we feel that this is the last one we will see. After this, I have a feeling we will be off the grid. My gut is never wrong.

"Dantè, how far are we from Revsdon?" Juan Diego asks.

"About three minutes." Dantè answers. "Weapons loaded?"

We all nod.

"Alright, good."

Three minutes later, Dantè pulls into the deserted town. "Because we're here."

Sure enough, before Josh can text me the next location, Iridis arrives. There are twenty people in two cars now, and they are aiming their weapons at us.

We quickly exit the vehicle, and split off. For every one of us, there are four of them. More than there has ever been.

We can take them, we're strong. But so help me if after this, we have to break into a deserted _Denny's_ because I really do not want to.

Three tall, skinny men and one, big-boned, muscular female with grey eyes.

I run and again, doge their bullets with techniques I learned while learning to duel.

I get to an abandoned bus garage, and there is a standoff. I fire at the four, not stopping until every last one of them is on the ground. To make sure they are dead, I stay there for a minute and watch the blood pour from their heads and chests, one man's left eye completely gone.

Their breathing slows, and soon, I figure they will die.

I turn to leave, and help the others, but someone has grabbed me and put me in chokehold.

I attempt to pry their hands off of me but the thin arms are incredibly strong... inhumanly strong. As blood drips onto me, and rolls down my ear, I realize that this is the man I had just supposedly murdered.

His gun is to my head, but mine is in my hand and before I turn blue, I shoot him in the one place I cringe just thinking about getting shot.

Yes, he reels back, and releases me, vomiting profusely and watching the blood seep through his jeans. He falls down. Dead or disabled? I honestly cannot tell at this point.

I hear screaming and turn, to see Regina, inside of the bus, ready to get her head blown off.

As much as I do not like her, I need her and so does the crew, most importantly, so does my querida.

Wasting no time, I run into the old, black party bus and blow out the brains of the man ready to kill her.

Regina turns around and sees me. "Gomez..." She seems, shocked and is out of breath.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Thanks."

I nod. "Tish needs you, we need you. And you are a damn good fighter, I will give you that." I say, honestly.

"Ya know, you could have punched me out for that incident at Enrique's." She says, sweeter than usual.

"Yes, well I don't hit women... not even you."

I then see Dantè limping to the bus. I assist him into it and I see, upon further inspection, that he has a severely mild wound in his leg. It appears a small gun grazed it and he is bleeding. I order Regina to sit him down.

Dantè speaks. "Gomez, there's more... they blew up the car." He says.

 _"What?"_ No. Not the car! What if it takes too long to get to Morticia on foot?

"You heard me. Look, I got out before they did but I saw them drop the bomb. I... you dropped these." Dantè hands me Morticia's birthday card-letter she wrote. It has a burn mark where there is no writing, but it angers me. It angers me beyond belief.

Still, I give a smile to Dantè. "Gracias." I tuck the paper in my pocket.

Dantè nods. "De nada." He takes a deep breath. "Enrique had a first aid kit, in the... in the passenger seat, I grabbed it."

I pat him on the back. "Good man." I say. I then turn to Regina. "Go tell the others to meet here, in the black party bus."

"But, what about the-"

 _"Go!"_ I yell.

She does as she's told, and I tend to Dantè's wound. Again, how I wish mi querida were here. Most would not believe it, but Morticia has a wonderful bedside manner. I, on the other hand, do not have a terrific one unless it comes to my only.

I do the best I can, though, and bandage it up after trying to put something or other on it and make it heal. It seems to be working, and, pained and winded, Dantè leans back in his seat.

I get into the driver seat, and, to my surprise, there are keys on the dashboard, and when I put them in the engine... the bus turns on. Almost, as if, the people in this city were going about business as usual and they just, disappeared. It's eerie. I like it.

I wish Tish were here, she'd adore all of the mystery about this place. Whilst running from _Iridis_ agents, I saw a number of things, like traffic lights that were faded, but working, and cars, ready to turn but no people in them. How bizarre.

I don't know if it needs gas, but we found a new vehicle for when the crew arrives.

They all get on the bus, check on Dantè, and sit down, then I lead the poor man to the passengers seat.

"Have you ever driven a party bus before?" I ask.

He gets a suspicious look on his face. "Have you?"

I shake my head. "No." I say, honestly.

He shakes his head, as well.

I switch seats with him, as his right leg is working beautifully. "Dantè, Santiago can take over if-"

 _"No."_ He cuts me off. "I won't just sit there while my friends risk their lives. I'm gonna be alright, Gomez."

"Well, then I will make a deal with you." I press a button and the bus' doors close. "You drive, and learn how to work this bus, for forty minutes. Then, I will take over. I don't want to sound pushy, but I am getting to Morticia and I need everyone at their best."

"Trust me, I know. Acid and I have this dog, if anything ever happened to Courtney-"

Acid laughs. "And for a minute I was _concerned_ with your injury!"

Dantè rolls his eyes. "Aww, come on, you love that dog more than you'll ever love me!" He jokes.

"Well..." Acid hesitates. "You know that is only _kind of_ true!" She yells, nearly rolling in her seat.

Dantè shrugs and looks at me. _"Women."_

I crack a smile. That sentiment, _women_. I do not know if it is the way he said it or the way I am feeling. But, it reminds me of how stubborn my Tish is. God, she is so strong-willed. As am I. I hate to argue with her, but sometimes it happens (although making up makes it all worth it, I always end up on my knees, kissing her up her leg and... well, the rest lies between our satin sheets). She is stubborn, so stubborn and my, is she sexy. Whenever an argument does happen, all I can think about is how much I want to make love to her and apologize. I fight to remember what I am even saying, and it inevitably leads to her walking out of the bedroom and me coming to apologize and taking her downstairs to our dungeon, and forgetting all about whatever meal we are supposed to be having.

"Yes," I chuckle, lightly. "Women."

We end up stealing (if you wish to get technical) the bus from the garage and pumping gas into it before we leave.

We travel in the spacious vehicle for the rest of the day, until it is time to eat again, and get some much-needed sleep.

We decide to sleep in the party bus, but come out for the meal.

We dine on rabbit by the fire and at this point, all I can do is stare into it.

"Would it help to converse about her, amigo?" Juan Diego asks.

I look up at him. "About Tish?" I ask.

"Yes, she is all that is on your mind, Gomez." He replies.

"I know." I sigh and sit up, gazing at the crew. "I took her to the Bermuda Triangle for our second honeymoon." I begin.

Regina throws her hands up. "I'm going into the bus, I don't wanna hear this."

Santiago rolls his eyes at her. " _Stay,_ he isn't getting into that kind of detail." He raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you?"

"No." I reply. "Some things I have to save for myself."

Enrique shakes with laughter. " _Really_ , because I've walked in on you about... _eleven_ times now?" He asks, almost certain he is right.

 _"Twelve."_ I respond. "You slept over for my last birthday because your car broke down. You went into our bedroom to say goodnight, -"

"And I ended up having a traumatizing night instead." Enrique recalls.

"Oh, yea, aren't you to into the freaky stuff?" Acid asks.

I reminisce about everything we've done that qualifies. At least once every other day, I'll do something like strap her to that wheel or she'll tie me to the bed. The whips, and the chains, and my beautiful Morticia, under me or sometimes, vise versa.

"Yes, ever since our first night together." I am an honest man, and there is no reason to lie to my friends.

Regina fake gags. "You assholes lied to me."

"No." Enrique leans in. "That doesn't cover even a quarter of what I have." He shivers. "God, it was awkward that day. I knocked on the door and Gomez answers with _who is it?_ Right? I tell him it's me and I didn't hear a reply. So, I think to myself, _alright, maybe he didn't hear me_. _I'll just walk in to thank him for letting me stay here._ And _somebody_ , -" He bores holes into my soul with his eyes. "Forgot to lock the door. So, when I walk in, I hear a loud noise, turn and there they are."

"Oh, no. You make this sound like my fault." I shake a finger at him. "Shouldn't you have heard?"

 _"Leaving!"_ Regina threatens again.

Acid's fine with it and the rest of us continue talking.

"Well, I mean... yes, I should have. But in my defense, it was midnight. How long do you two go at it?"

I sigh, in part to spite Regina. "Well, it ranges from-"

Regina stands up and stomps to the bus. _"Alright, that's it!"_ She walks into the party bus and presumably begins readying herself for bed

We all laugh.

Enrique continues talking. "Yes, so, I avert my eyes like a good friend and try to explain myself. Morticia looks to her side and very quietly says, _Gomez, there's something you might want to see._ So this man," He points at me. At this point, we are thinking of Acid as one of the guys. "Doesn't see me and continues, thinking it's, ya know."

I hear roars of laughter, and I am not embarrassed in the slightest. They're my friends, and I trust them with my life. And besides, we've told the same story with just Enrique, Santiago and I and Morticia was in my arms, participating in it. One cannot take life too seriously, that's my motto.

"Morticia's obviously in an awkward situation, so she gives this barely able laugh and looks up at Gomez. I just hear her say, _Darling, turn to your left._ " Enrique explains. "So, he does and his eyes enlarge because I have been standing here for longer than wanted at this point. And so..." He tears up from laughter.

I continue the story. "Well, I looked at him, in disbelief because you would think he would have learned the eleventh time this happened. But, no. So I just looked at him and said, _Get out._ And he looked at me like it was not at all a simple task."

"I was in shock." He defends himself.

"Uh-huh." I finish the story. "So, finally, after like a minute of staring and me trying to cover up Morticia because _no way_ will I allow him to see her like that, he leaves and-"

"And instead of coming out and apologizing for making me get close to you in a way I would prefer not to be for the twelfth time, they finish. Yea, I couldn't even sleep because I stayed in the guestroom that shared a wall with theirs. Finally, at three in the morning, I had had enough and slept on the couch."

I cannot even defend myself, that is exactly what happened.

We talk and laugh some more and I am happy that I do not have to refrain from talking about her like this in front of my friends. It is nice to know they care and want to see me happy. And they loved Morticia from the moment they met her. If there's one thing I will take away from this besides my beloved black angel, it will be that we must have these gentlemen over more often.

The gentlemen, and Acid all go into the party bus and retire for the night.

As usual, I sit and stare into the fire while thinking about my cara mia, and our honeymoons. I've taken her on two, and I'm planning for a third in Paris, once we bring her back safely.

I sit for an hour, and soon, someone sits on the log next to me.

I sigh, thinking it is Enrique. "Enrique, I know. I am coming. I just-"

I turn and see that it is Fred. I slap his knee, playfully. "I am sorry, my friend, I though it was Enrique." I explain.

"It's alright, Gomez." He chuckles, an uncomfortable edge in his voice.

There is an akward silence.

"It's so peaceful out here, by the fire." Fred breaks the silence.

"Isn't it, old man?" I sigh. "I hate it. I don't want peaceful. Nothing should be at rest or at ease while Morticia is out there, alone and in trouble."

Fred nods. "I understand." He pauses. "Are you happy?" He asks me.

That came from nowhere. "Not now, no. Now I am filled with dread and despair, and not the good kind. But when Tish is with me? Yes, I am the happiest man on earth. Or unhappy, as Morticia and I like to call it. We've learned over time, that almost anything viewed as unhappy by this weird world, we find joy in. But in technical terms, yes. Oh, yes, I am. Fred, that woman gives my life meaning. Watching those beautiful, dark eyes if hers open every morning gives me purpose."

He seems a bit offended, but perhaps the firelight is reflecting wrong. Then, his expression changes from offense to... happiness? A sense of pride? I am unsure.

"Gomez... I'm happy for you, really, I am." He outs a gentle hand on my knee.

I am terribly confused. He says this as though I am a high schooler, graduating, having never passed with more than a B. "Uh... thank you." I say, and it comes out as more of a question than I intended.

Fred seems to realize something and his hand jumps off of my knee. When he jumps himself, some sort of weird effect, his bag falls to the floor, the contents nearly spilling out of it.

I grab it, but he snatches it out of my hands, perspiring.

"Woah, take it easy, old man!" I give him a lighthearted pat.

"I'm... I'm sorry." He rearranges the contents, hovering over it like it is a dead animal and I am a vulture.

"What is in that bag of yours, Fred?" I ask.

Fred sighs. He wears a vagarish facial expression. "I... keep a diary." He confesses.

"Hey, old man, I don't judge!" I slap him on the back. All I care about is getting Tish back. "All I want is my Tish. If you can assist in bringing her home, I won't stand in your way."

The oddly familiar stranger nods, cracking a smile.

There is another round of silence, then, Fred, again speaks. "You really love her, don't you?"

I nod, tears welling up in my eyes for the umpteenth time since my darling was taken from me. "With all my heart and soul."

Fred looks heartbroken and stands. "I'm sorry." Is all he says, then he walks into the bus.

About a half an hour later, I do the same.

We travel on, fifteen days Morticia has been missing now.

I am coming for her, and soon. As of now, I worry for Dantè. He is getting sicker, and weaker. In fact, he coughed up blood just yesterday. The crew and I ask him every day if he wants someone to take over driving, but he is determined and stays put. I do feel terrible for him, though, as it has gotten so bad, we must keep the bag we found in the forest in the front seat, in case he needs to throw up from the nausea he is suffering.

But, it will all be worth it. The hurt, the hiding in the woods, the gunshots, the wounds and even _Friendly's_ because soon... Tish will be mine again.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

It is my fifteenth day missing, and my tenth day at Iridis. I don't like how routine this is all becoming. The shower once a week, the shaving with a probably broken razor, the eating twice a week. The drugs, and the vomiting... and even some of the doctors. But I am still furious at all of them. And the more habitual this all becomes, the more I am pushed to make an escape plan. They all involve Gomez, so that indeed should show how much I am counting on him getting us out of here. And he will not disappoint, I am sure of it.

After that conversation Evil and I had, she is starting to appreciate me more. She actually cares what I have to say and soon, I may even be able to convince her that Gomez is coming.

What I once thought would be a, _Gomez is coming for me and we will get the cops involved to come for the other's_ mission, is no longer that at all.

Evil is right about one thing. They (the cops) are not coming, they won't believe a word of it. My husband is, and hopefully he brought backup. Together, we are going to have to bring down this awful organization once and for all. That is the only way. I realize now that I cannot leave Evil here, or Ash, or Emily... and certainly not Hernus.

But I cannot help but notice the stares Ash gives Emily, and the compliments he has recently been giving her. He looks at her with something in his eyes that says, gently, _I care about you_ , and Emily seems like she would like that. She needs that.

Unfortunately, dear Emily cannot pick up hints very well. She is a beautiful girl, but I believe her self-confidence is lower than the fog in our cemetery.

So, I have decided to do something that won't land me in a cage with the crazies. Instead of playing, _Scare the Doctors_ , I am playing _Matchmaker_.

Evil and Emily are being experimented on, and as of late, I am not concerning myself with Richard, so I let my eyes wander over to Ash.

The cover is not over the cage, and no doctors are never in the room unless they are coming to take us away.

"Ash, come here."

Ash obeys and sits across from me, I lean against the bars. "Yea?"

I put one knee up and stretch one leg out, a comfortable position I learned from Evil. Nobody can see my black bikini underwear if nobody looks. "I've noticed the way you look at Emily."

Ash gulps. "You did?"

I nod. "Yes, and I've noticed the compliments."

He blushes, slightly. "What compliments?" Ash asks.

"Take this morning, for example." I begin. "She was resting her head on me, and I was trying to comfort her because of those drugs that made her nauseous. You pushed the hair out of her face while she vomited and looked into her eyes. _I don't know if anyone's ever told you,_ you said."

"But I think you're very pretty." Ash finishes.

I shake my finger, by now, all of my nail polish is gone. "Ash, I know love when I see it."

Richard scoffs, but I ignore it.

Ash shakes his head. "I'm twenty-two years old, been here since twenty... I'm a sad little virgin boy who couldn't get a date even when I was walking free." He sighs. "I don't have a chance."

"Stop that." I say.

Ash looks confused. "Stop what?"

"Your self-confidence is dreadful. Now, that's your first lesson."

Ash chuckles. "Lesson?"

I nod. "Indeed. You need help, my dear boy, and I am going to give it."

"Have you been drugged again?"

"No." I reply. "I've been here for ten days."

He backs away. "Uh-huh."

"And it feels like ten years." I say. "So, would you like some advice?"

He leans in and sits in the same position as me. "How long you been married?" He asks.

"Eleven years." I reply, glancing down at the delicate finger that Gomez had slipped my wedding ring on. I rarely took it off, but for showers or whenever I had to, I would usually have Gomez hang onto it. And he would slip it on my finger, just like he did on our wedding day.

Ash's eyes pop out of his head. "See? I haven't even had sex yet and you were four years younger than me when you got married."

"It was the best decision I've ever made." I say, nostalgically. I turn my attention back to Ash. "But everyone is different, Ash."

"Yea, I mean it isn't like I had a real chance." He admits.

"Exactly." I agree. "But now you do, d'accord?"

"Pardon?" He asks.

I let it slip out. "I apologize, dear. I sometimes in cooperate French into English statements. After all, you need to keep up with the language or you'll forget it."

Ash appears agape. "You're bilingual?" He asks.

"Qui." I reply.

"Cool." He says, in awe.

I am a bit shocked that this is so fascinating for Ash. But, then again, he hasn't seen outside in two years. "Now, the first thing I am going to tell you, is ridiculously cheesy. But be yourself."

He sighs. "I've heard that."

"No, let me finish. Be your whole self, but present your best self for her. If anyone ever told you that marriages fade as time passes, they lied. Because many do, but none should."

"My old math teacher, Mrs. Sweeny said that they all fade because when you're old or get kids a few things happen: somebody cheats, somebody isn't attracted to you anymore, or you aren't romantic and stay married because you're too damn lazy to start all over again."

Taken aback, I speak. "Where did you go to school?" I ask.

"Second grade? Sherman Elementary, why?"

My eyes grow wide. "I knew that school was trouble."

"Lemme guess, your kids go there?" Ash inquires.

"Not anymore." I say.

He nods. "Good plan. Anyway, that's what she said."

I shake my head. "Ignore it. A marriage is supposed to be filled with love. You should not be married at all if you don't love each other. There should still be a spark and some sort of chemistry when you're older. Age and the passage of time should not have a negative effect on your love. I always hated being told that. When I met Gomez... I knew I wanted to be in his arms for eternity. The night he proposed, he promised me that he was always going to worship and adore me forever."

"And?"

"And he still does. In fact, I can say with full confidence that out love grows stronger with each passing second."

He sighs. "Well, then you are really lucky."

"I am. But you can be, too. Ash, do not misunderstand. In every relationship, marriage or not, you are bound to fight or argue. But it shouldn't take up fifty percent of your marriage. It shouldn't take away from your marriage at all. Any and all arguments should bring you two closer together in the end."

"But what if I'm right? Or what if something really bad happens?" He pauses. "For the record I know nothing about girls or relationships. I was raised by my uncle." He lets his eyes shift for a minute, then says, nonchalantly, "He's in jail now."

"Oh. For what?" Depending on what it is for, he may have been a good role model.

"Oh, statutory-"

 _"Never mind."_ I cut him off. "The point is, a relationship should not be filled with regrets, what-if's and anger once you put the ring on."

"Yea, but you're beautiful. And your husband's probably handsome as all hell."

I smile with my eyes. "Thank you, Ash. And yes, my husband is the best-looking man I have ever met." I tell him. "And for the record, you're quite good looking, yourself."

Ash blushes. "Thanks."

I nod, as a _you're welcome_. "But, looks aren't what matter, Ash. My husband, true, was first attracted to me because of the way I look, but we got to know each other that night. We loved each other the moment our eyes met."

"Wait, you got engaged..."

"Yes, we met and he proposed five hours later." I admit. "And we learned about each other, and loved everything we heard. He understands me like nobody else does, and I do, him. We have our differences, but we celebrate both those and our similarities."

He sighs. "I give up then. I didn't love Emily the moment I met her."

"Yes, you did." I contradict. "You just didn't know it."

Ash ponders this. "Ya think?"

"I know." I say.

"But what if something happens? Like a crisis?"

"Then you work it out together. And as far as you showing her you care, start by telling her. The glances aren't working because Emily doesn't know you have feelings for her. Be a gentleman, Ash. Kiss her hand, ask about the goals and aspirations, and give her compliments. Tell her how much she means to you, and tell her how beautiful you know she is. Tell her you'll always be there to protect her. Both people in the relationship should feel safe and protected. Not just one way." I pause. "And just think. If you can face this, you can face anything."

He sighs, happily, now. "If this works... can I still come to you for advice?"

"Of course." I nod. "Someday, Gomez and I will be attending your wedding, cheering you on from the sidelines."

"I already know Emily looks good in white." He says.

"An interesting colour choice, but we'll talk about it." I pat his knee.

This is good. This is good. My mind is mostly off of how much I miss my family for a minute.

Richard just has to be the parade in the middle of our rain.

"You do realize this could never work, right? I mean, Evil said it herself. We're all going to die here anyways."

Ash looks defeated and shuts up.

I stand and storm over to Richard. I give him my _death glare._

"What?" He asks, selling innocence that I refuse to buy.

 _"What? **What?** "_

He shrugs. "Yea, _what?_ "

 _"What the hell is your problem, Richard?"_ I throw up my hands. "I swear to god, you act like nothing good ever comes out of this world!"

"All there is is sweat, blood and fire, Morticia."

 _"Exactly!"_ I yell at him. "You are so goddamn opinionated! You cannot see that the sun gives people heat strokes, that cheerleaders can actually be cold-hearted bitches, that marriages don't fade! You _cannot_ see that smiling Mr. Sun is _evil!_ "

 _"Who-"_

I cut him off. "No. You _will_ let me finish. _There is much beauty in darkness, and there is good behind every full moon. There is adventure in spirits, and the world, Richard, is not black and white!_ I wrote once that one should not spread their darkness unless it is wanted. _Well, today, and all days forward, I am making an exception. You need it._ You cannot get it through your _thick head_ that some of us refuse to rot here, and some of us would rather _sleep with the crazies_ than lose the _only_ physical thing they have that matters to them at the moment!" I am armed with a vocal machine gun and all he has is a worn, cardboard shield, but I am firing at him like he has a missile aimed at me, at all of us.

 _"Is this about the damn ring? Let it go!"_ He yells. "I know your _rich ass_ thinks that you are entitled to everyone caring abo your opinion but get it through _your_ thick head that they don't!"

" _I have never felt that anything was ever owed to me. Don't. You. Dare suggest otherwise!_ My father died when I was sixteen years old, I worked as a cocktail waitress until eighteen to help support my nearly destitute mother and by that time I had been groped and catcalled more times than I can count! I was the tree that my entire family took _an emotional battle-axe to for two years!_ I met Gomez and he saved my life. Never had I been shown-"

"A fortune?" He asks.

 _"No, you imbusle!"_ I didn't know I could be that loud. " _Love. Affection. Adoration._ Somebody putting me first. I can assure you, if we lost everything today, I would love him just as much."

"Easier said than done!"

 _"Bite me!"_ I shout. "Suck a big one, Richard, _I. Am. Done._ I don't know what happened to you and frankly, it won't add up to the words you say to all of us because you're too _high and mighty to realize how weak you really are_!"

I am out of breath, and run through my body to try and catch it.

"Shut up! You don't know anything, you know _nothing_ about what a _wife and two precious little girls dying in front of you_ by the doctors that now hurt you, does to a person! You have no idea how _bad_ it hurts when for eight years, you are locked in a cell with only regret and the sounds of madness putting you to sleep at night! You have no idea at all! _You're damn right, I think we're gonna die! We damn well are!"_ He pushes me, but Ash jumps up and catches me in his arms.

I get my bearings and stand back up. I look at him, then, sympathy in my eyes. It is gut-wrenching, what I have just heard. Who could imagine? It makes so much sense, that is why he is the way he is. Regardless, this incident is not that one. I get a very serious look in my eyes, and I stare straight into his heart. _"We. Are not. Going. To die. Not now, not today... and **certainly** not here."_

The two men are speechless, and before they can say more, the cage door opens.

Dr. Nightshade comes and drags me down to a room in the basement. It looks like an interrogation room. I've seen one of those before. And there is glass separating me from the doctors and George, except Winthrop. Only I can see them, watching me with their clipboards at the ready. Waiting there is Rose, wearing my ring. Ankerstein is nowhere to be seen.

Rose looks over to me. "Ooh, yay, you brought _that one._ " I hear her say.

Surprising me, Dr. Nightshade chastises her. "Now, Rose, she has a name."

It was silent.

 _"But you don't have to use it!"_ Dimentia laughs.

Dr. Winthrop forces me into the chair. He begins to sterilize the needle. Odd, he has never before done that.

I am strapped in the chair now. "What does this drug do?" I ask.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough." He replies and kisses my cheek. "Best part, black beauty, _we don't know._ "

I remain calm. "If you get to call me _black beauty_ , can I start calling you _damned doctor_?"

He finishes sterilizing the tool. "Why?"

"Because that's what you are." I reply. "You're a doctor, and you are for sure _damned_."

"Well, if there's a special seat in hell just for me..." He injects the needle into my arm. "I guess there's one for you too, black beauty."

"Oh, you're right, damned doctor." I watch him grimace at the name, and, groggy, I lean my head back. _"The throne."_

I cannot ever fully explain what that drug did to me, even with my broad vocabulary. But I shall try my hardest. My second worst fear is realized (my first is losing Gomez). I am in no control of my actions, my words... or my thoughts.

I flail around in the chair, behaving worse than the _crazies_. I scream words of hate and pain but those are the only things I can make out because these Latin words are foreign to my ears and voice.

I can hear voices and they are all high pitched, and very fast-paced. They are telling me to just grab those drugs and inject them into my body. _The drugs are always there for me, the drugs never leave, the drugs don't hurt me the way the doctors do. You said it yourself that there are disagreements in every relationship. This is our relationship, isn't it beautiful? Grab the needle._ I can't. _Grab the needle, please._ I cannot reach it, I scream and struggle against my binds. _Grab the needle, bitch. Grab it, hurry up, what are you waiting for, Gomez? Give me a break and shut the fuck up. Stop screaming and grab the needle, grab the needle. Grab it!_ Oh, God, all I want to do is scream, stop! Please, stop! But I have no control over anything. I push on the straps, I push and I push, screaming and crying because the voices are getting louder and telling me I am going to die without those drugs.

I feel excruciating heat, and almost see fire everywhere. I become paranoid and think I am bleeding everywhere and it only makes the voices yell at me more. _Grab it, grab it, grab it-_

I do. I do not know how but my hands break the binds with superhuman strength and I grab the needle and jab it into my arm.

Angered that the voices didn't stop, I run up to the glass and bang my head and hands against it. Soon enough, the glass, the thin glass has a dent in it, bigger than the one that is probably in my head. A new urge takes over me, an urge to make the doctors pay.

Before I can act on the impulse surging through me like a brand new electric chair, I am jabbed in the neck.

Then... as if by some miracle from the heavens and hell, it all stops. I fall to my knees and cry, my head in terrible pain and the rest of me, not much better.

On my hands and knees, sobbing, I look up at Dr. Winthrop. "What did you do to me?" I ask.

"Stopped you from killing everybody in this room." He replies, pushing the hair out of his face.

 _"Bastard."_ I spit at him.

"The throne, huh?" Winthrop gives a chuckle.

"Yes." I say, quietly but as loud as I can. I cough, and up comes blood.

Dr. Nightshade comes in with my wrist-leash.

Dr. Winthrop wipes my mouth and turns to walk out.

With my last bit of today's strength, I grab him from behind by the neck, and begin to suffocate him. For every kiss, every caress, every time he called me **_black beauty_** _... here you are, you asshole._

Dr. Nightshade drops her clipboard and pries me off of Dr. Winthrop.

She throws me to the ground and Dr. Winthrop walks out. One day, I promise myself, I will make the fucker run.

Dr. Nightshade looks disheveled and yells at me. _"That's it, you are sleeping with the-"_

"No, Aunt Dimentia." Rose smirks. "I wanna see what she does to her _friends_."

Dimentia nods, and looks down at me. "It's a deal."

She ties the wrist leash to me and I physically cannot walk, I thought. There was no way in hell I would have been able to get up those stairs, but I did. I do not know how I did, but I did.

I did it whilst playing it off like the drugs were still affecting my behavior but they weren't. I just was making sure Rose thought they were, so I would get to sleep in the cage tonight. A bit ridiculous, really... the _want_ to sleep in a cage.

Dr. Nightshade stops Rose at the door. "Want to do the honours?"

She hands my wrist-leash to Rose and opens the door. She then looks at me, a hellish, angry fire, burning in her bland iris'. "You hurt Rose, and I _terminate you_."

I snarl, because I must be believable, and Rose leads me to the cage.

She opens it, and stares at me.

 _"Et incenderent in inferno, est peius."_ A curse I learned in college. But Rose doesn't know that.

Rose turns her head. _"Aunt-"_

While she calls for her aunt, I spot the key to our cell in her purse. Quickly, I grab it and shove it in my panties. A bit unsanitary, but where else can I hide it?

Rose turns back to me, standing there, and soon _Aunt Dimentia_ comes in.

"What? _Did she hurt you?_ "

Rose is not smart enough to lie. "She was saying weird things in Latin..." She shakes her head and clutches her purse. Hernus is not in it, this time.

Dr. Nightshade nods. "It's the drugs, dear. Sometimes they make the inmates crazier than the _crazies_." She gestures for Rose to leave and slaps me, then forces me back into the cage.

She locks me in with the master key that she has, and covers the cage for nightfall.

I lean against the bars and choke on the blood that still wants to make it's way up my throat. It does, and it burns.

As usual, everyone else is asleep. Only this time, Ash is protecting Emily, and she looks almost as comfortable as she does with me.

Then, as per the nightly ritual, five minutes to spare, Hernus comes into the room and leaps into the cage. He has a roll with him and sees the blood on the floor. He meows painfully.

"Shh..." I whisper and stroke him, he climbs into my lap. "Hernus, mother's okay." I have adopted this cat, I realize. And I love it. "I'm just-"

The cage rises up and makes me vomit up the blood again. But, within a couple of hours, it is over. I watch the cat's red eyes close, and I close mine as well. Right now, I must think. I have my brain back and I am keeping it, too.

I did not see much of the reactions of Dr. Winthrop, but I did see the doctors laughing, I realize. I watched them writing on their clipboards, not even looking at the things. Then, it hits me. It all makes sense. I understand why they are performing these inhuman experiments. _Torture._ They don't _need_ this information, they are sadists (the bad kind) who want this information because they want to see other people suffer in the wrong way. They only lead us around like dogs, take our lovers, our weddings rings, our _lives_ for the soul purpose of throwing us in a cage and yelling, _dance, monkey, dance!_ I understand it all. And it makes me want to feast on all of them for the way they've subdued me. I will, Gomez will. We all will. We may not be treated as human, but we _are_ , damn it. And we do not deserve this.


	15. Throw Me to the Wolves

Chapter 13: Throw Me to the Wolves

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

This morning, Josh pinpointed the last location. It was 9:00 am, and my phone buzzed.

I studied the words on the screen, and I studied them carefully.

 _9:00 am- Josh: Hey, Gomez. We r all worried about Morticia & hope u have her back soon. We got the last location. Good luck._

 _9:02 am- Me: With what?_

 _9:03 am- Josh: Did I forget to mention that they r on ur tail?_

 _9:04 am- Me: Thank you, Josh. For everything. Wish us luck._

 _9:04 am- Josh: Np. Good luck, huntey!_

I chuckled at Josh's interesting use of vocabulary. Perhaps, one day, it will catch on.

That was twenty-five minutes ago. The last location is now less than a day away, and we are in a deserted area. It is like a suburb with no streets or houses, just a road. Woodsy without all of the trees. In about twenty-four hours, Josh says we should come to a vacant lot with an enormous, white building that has the appearance of an asylum. That, is _Iridis Inc._

I sigh, clinging to the realization that Tish and I will only have to suffer through one more, miserable night without each other.

Our weapons are finished loading now, and Danté speeds up.

"Are they behind us?" I ask and cock my gun.

Danté nods. "Weapons at the ready?" He asks us.

We all say _yes_ in different ways, and sure enough, the sound of gunfire and loud footfall can be heard... louder than usual.

I look in the rearview mirror and see forty _Iridis_ agents, thirty of which have guns and a few with knives, the rest, nothing.

They are in a fighting stance, like an army. I will admit right now, compared to them, we look unprepared and untrained. However, I will also admit, my motivation is far stronger than any of theirs will ever be. I told Enrique that I can do anything for Tish, and now is my chance to prove it.

Sixteen days, my querida has been gone... and I will have her in my arms in one.

We all yell, as though we are about to run with the bulls, and exit the vehicle, praying Danté doesn't nearly get a bomb dropped on him, like last time. Not when we are this close.

We disperse, and so do the _Iridis_ agents. Seven take after me, but they split off. Chasing me has not worked out in their favour in the past, so now one chases me while the rest run ahead and hide, ready to ambush me.

Dirty pool, Iridis. Dirty pool indeed. I continue to run, and leap. I will give it to myself that I am extremely agile, and I never knew just how much it would come in handy until I was placed in this situation.

As I leap off of a tall, wooden structure, I summersault in the air and draw my weapons, shooting two agents I see in the chest.

They keep coming at me when I land, an unstoppable force.

I continue this strategy when I can, although tiring and soon come to a dead end. There is a tall gate, and behind it is some sort of old water tower on its last leg. Why do all of the places we come to look like they came from a horrour movie? And why the hell can't Morticia be here to see it?

The gate is grand, and I am surrounded by the seven agents. Without thinking twice, I draw my weapons and fire both of them at all of the agents, bullets penetrating each of their bodies.

It reminds me of some of the zombie movies (only the good, gory ones with believable plotlines) that I would _watch_ with my angel of darkness. I would hold her on the couch in the living room at night, and mostly shower her in affection whilst paying little attention to the movie, and at some point, she would fall asleep in my arms. And I would thank the gods that I found Morticia, a woman who could fall asleep during a gruesome murder scene in _The Hatchet Brothers_. It is relaxing, I will give her that.

They bleed out, but still, most remain standing. For some odd reason, they appear frozen in time. Their weapons are drawn, ready to fire and possibly end my life, but they just stand there. Seeing this as an opportunity, I blow off the heads of those standing, and then of those lying down. I continue to shoot until there is no way for them to get back up.

I do not know if they are still alive, as nothing would surprise me anymore. But I do not stick around to find out, and I run to find any or all of the others and assist in any way I can.

I am least concerned, ironically, about our newest recruit. After all, he is a security guard and an ex-cop. He has experience with guns, more than I do, even. While, true, I like to drive up to the shooting range with Tish once in a while, I am more of a sword or rapier kind-of guy. But I do enjoy other weapons as well.

I come across Enrique, lying on the ground. Worried he has been shot, I run to him, concerned.

He lies there, winded but not wounded. I let out a hard sigh of relief and help him to his feet, patting his back. "Are you alright, amigo?" I ask.

He nods. "Yes." He pauses. "But I am worried about Fred."

"Why?" I ask.

He points behind me, by a small number of trees. I turn around and Fred is about to get stabbed. I watch as he... does absolutely nothing. _What?_

I use the same tactic that I did with the last seven, and once the agent's head is gone, they go down.

I quickly run to Fred and grab him, handing him over to Enrique. "You see to Fred." I order. "I will search for the others."

I do find the others, and I tell them how to presumably kill the agents. I explain that blowing off their heads with the gun works. So, those with no guns team up with those who have them. It is a gruesome way to kill, so at least it will be pleasant.

The fighting continues on for three hours, and I have nearly gotten my head shot off twice. I am bruised all over, as is everyone else.

Danté follows us with the party bus, and every time I kill, I watch him nearly bash his head in from frustration that he cannot do the same. But it is fact that he would die or slow us down, in his condition. Either of those things are not options for me, especially number two.

We believe we have mowed down every agent and run to the bus, wheezing and bleeding, and whipping the blood of the enemy off of our shirts.

Fred and I are left, and before we can get into the car, Fred is grabbed from behind.

I draw my weapon and pray that Fred does something, considering his captor has not even a stick to threaten him with. I slowly lower my gun, ready for Fred to perform his moves from his years as an officer. But, nothing.

There is indeed a struggle, but that is just it. All it is, is a struggle... for Fred.

I sprint and shoot at Fred's captor, but my gun is out of bullets. With no time to reload, I resort to hand-to-hand combat, and fight off the _Iridis_ agent.

He bites me, hard. Unlucky for him, it doesn't faze me. Pain like that is no concern of mine. Morticia and I have bitten each other more times than I can count on all four limbs.

But, I do bite back and pull, so hard that flesh rips from bone and the agent yelps in pain, and stumbles back.

I spit out his flesh and wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing so hard that I hear cracking noises. My nails dig in to his skin and I then snap his neck.

I whack him with the butt of my gun and Danté pokes his head out of the window, and shoots the head off of the man.

I smile at him, assuming that Santiago handed over his gun to Danté in order for him to act that quickly.

I am winded and perspiring a great deal, but I get Fred into the bus and sit next to him.

Breathing heavily, I manage to turn to Fred and speak. _"I thought you said you were a security guard?"_

He shakes his head, seemingly dumbfounded. "Oh, I was. I am. I just..."

Whatever. I sigh and shake my head. That does not even matter to me right now. As Danté shoves the key in the ignition, all I can think of is the fact that in less than twenty-four hours, that black goddess of the night that I adore so, will be mine again.

Do not worry, mi corazón. I'm coming, and trust me when I say, everyone whom subdued us, _they're dying_.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Two weeks and two days. Sixteen, agonizing days total, I have been here. Still, I remain strong. I must be strong for my cellmates, that finally listen to me. Even Richard, at least enough.

It appears that now, I am the ring leader. And isn't it amusing? Gomez always did say that I embodied the expression, _throw me to the wolves, and I will return leading the pack._ It appears my darling was right. I was thrown into a cage, and here I am, two weeks later, owner of the damn thing.

I have been helping dear Ash with Emily, and it seems to be working. She returned from being drugged, barely able to walk, and he kissed her hand and held her while she cried and vomited up the darkest coloured blood I have ever seen. It was nearly black, I swear it. One would think that poor girl was injected with straight-up tar. But, Ash helped her through it. He has been telling her each day how beautiful she is, and giving her the sweetest compliments. And? He was winning Emily's heart. But, the battle ended this morning. He won.

I walked into the cage after a horrid, drug-filled morning and found the pair in the far corner of our cell, hearts open, eyes closed and lips, locked. I smiled internally for them and did not interrupt. I simply turned my back when it turned into something more. They really do keep us in here like animals. So little privacy, we throw modesty to the wind and make love in front of each other. I grimace at the thought of having to do that, but I still wish Gomez were here, with me.

Now, while the couple still looks to me, Emily turns to Ash a great deal. Dare I say, more than she does, me?

I am truly happy for them. But I am not at all happy about where we are. I watch every day as that spoiled child abuses Hernus. I am observed by that wretched woman who only wants me drugged so she can watch me deteriorate. I am drugged by the damned doctor that has not, thankfully, done anything more than made advances toward me. I am insulted by the crude old man who I cannot believe that my husband ever trusted, and I am again observed, by an insane doctor, crazier than the crazies and yet she is the one whom helps drug them. She may be doing this in the name of science, but this entire organization was made in the name of raw evil.

But the worst part? The worst part of it all is that I am sick. Terribly sick, and I do not even know what is wrong with me. No, that's a lie. What is wrong with me is this place. It is that I am in this dreadful place. My affliction(s)? No, no I do not know what they are. I vomit up blood, I am shaky, and I have been having terrible stomach pains. I bruise more easily and feel nauseous all of the time. What have they done to the rest of my cellmates -disincluding Emily- that have been here for years, if they have done this to me in mere weeks?

I am becoming physically weaker, and it takes a greater effort to move than usual. I cannot begin to describe the terrible pains I feel in my abdomen, or how excruciatingly exhausting it is to walk up those flights of stairs. Oh, and please do not get me started on how incredibly degrading it is, to have to watch Dr. Winthrop try to catch a glimpse at the outline of my breasts through the gown I wear.

I have not even begun to overcome the hardest challenge. In fact, I saved that for today... for right now. The hardest challenge, will be convincing my cellmates that Gomez is coming, soon. And when I say soon, I mean any day now. He is a smart man, and I feel it in my gut that he knows where I am.

Once Richard returns from experimentation, I call for the attention of my cellmates.

They all look to me. I speak. "I understand that nobody thinks we are ever going to get out of here."

I wait, and Richard gives a slight eye roll. Nothing more happens, so I continue. "Well, we are."

Evil shakes her head. "How in the hell are we going to do that? Morticia, we are legit putting tons of blind faith in your husband that we have never even met so we can escape. Isn't there a better way?"

I shake my head. "No. We need him to get out of here. But we can do part of it ourselves."

Emily buries her head in Ash's shoulder. "How?"

"It would _help_ if we at least had a fucking key." Richard spits.

I nod. "Indeed it would."

The room, suspicious, goes quiet. Dead silent, one could hear a pin drop, if we had any.

"Lucky for us, we do."

Their eyes light up, even more than they did when I gave them part of my roll.

They crowd around me, and we form a tightly enclosed circle in the middle of the cage.

I pull they key I stole from Rose out of my panties and hold it up.

They stare, agape. "How did you do it?" Evil asks.

"Rose did something that nobody should ever, ever do." I say and tuck the key back into my panties.

Curious, Evil asks another question. "What?"

I eye her. "She turned her back on me."

Emily, beaming, leans in. "So, you mean, like... we could really..." She gulps, and I watch the tears roll down her cheeks.

Ash holds her.

"We're really gonna get out of here?"

I nod, filling the girl with hope. "Yes, dear." I squeeze her hand. "We are."

Richard seems to ponder this. To have gotten Richard, the most opinionated man on earth, to ponder something like this, is a true miracle. "What's your plan?" He asks.

An awkward turn of events this has taken, as Evil seems to have taken a step back.

"I presume that there is an alarm system in this place?" I would be thoroughly shocked if it didn't have one.

They all nod, except for Emily.

"Good."

These words shock them all.

"Why is that a good thing?" Ash queries.

"Because, Gomez will break in and trigger the alarm. Don't worry, I am almost certain he has brought back-up."

"Plot hole!" Evil raises a hand. "He will get mowed down instantly, he can't just walk in with a gun and yell, _freeze_."

I chuckle. "What do you take him for?" I fold my hands. "My husband has..." I try to think of an appropriate explanation but there isn't one. "Ways, of sneaking into places undetected."

Evil seems confused. "How?"

"Just trust him." I say. "Gomez never disappoints."

Evil looks flabbergasted. "How can you expect us to trust the guy? We have never even met him. We have never even exchanged a glance, for Christ's sake! How can we trust him?"

"You can't." I remain calm. "But you can trust me, and he'll do anything for me."

She laughs, not convinced. "Could he kill?"

"Oh..." My eyes shift, and a smile plays on my lips. "He probably already has."

Evil nods. "Alright. Continue."

"Alright. I will." I sit crisscross. "The alarm is our cue. I will unlock the cage, and Richard will stay behind to fight off the doctors. Evil and Ash will be on guard while Emily and I run. We are running to go and press that button to unlock the rest of us in here."

Evil speaks. "What button?"

"There is a large, red button behind a door marked _staff_ at the end of the hallway. It is covered by a small box which has the same keyhole as our cage." I say.

"Uh-huh. And in all my years here, why have I never seen this button?"

"Because-" A good question. A better one, though, how did I know there was a button there? I am certainly not staff. But I know I have seen it. I know it is there. And I had a dream last night that it unlocked all of the inmates. We will get out either way, and we have a good chance at death either way, so I lie. "I saw it while being walked by." Perhaps I did.

"But why would they leave it there?" Emily asks.

Damn it, Emily. "A sick joke. Freedom is the push of a button away but it is covered by a box, just like we are. That, and they have alienated everyone here so much that even if they had a key, they would not know how to survive in this world anyway. You said it yourself, Evil. This just might be easier."

There is silence, then Emily breaks it. "What if it is?"

I reply quickly. "I never was accustomed to easy. Nor did I like it."

Emily smiles, a confidence in her that I feel Ash has brought on. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm in." She puts a hand in the circle.

Well, I am not a kumbaya-person, but we will not get out alive, or at all, if we are not a team.

I place my hand atop hers, and it shakes.

"Are you alright, Morticia?" Emily asks.

I nod. "Yes, I'm fine." It's those goddamned drugs. "And the rest of you? Are you in?"

Ash puts his hand on mine, and it stops shaking. "In." He says.

Richard rolls his eyes. "I still think we're fucked."

"Well, if we're fucked, we'll be fucked together." I reply.

Richard shakes his head. "Sorry, Morticia. I don't like you that way."

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

"I said _no!_ "

I chuckle, lightly.

He stays put. "And I still say you're crazy, and we're all gonna die here."

I look him in the eyes. _"Well then make your family proud."_

 _"My family's dead."_ Richard replies, coldly. _"You know that."_

I nod. "I do. And wouldn't you want them to know that you did _every. Single. Thing_ that you possibly could, and you didn't go down without a fight?"

He gives in. "This may be a suicide mission, but I'm in on it." He puts his hand on Ash's.

We all stare at Evil.

Evil sighs. "I'll think about it."

"Evil..." I take her hands, making our tower collapse. "We are going to fight. We are going to fight hard. We are going to fight," I look her in the eyes. "With or without you."

Evil gulps. "Well, I'll keep that in mind."

I release her hands just as Dr. Nightshade and four other doctors approach the cage. They are all carrying our wrist-leashes, and we know what that means.

"Showers, inmates. Get the hell up." Dr. Nightshade orders.

We stand and walk to the doctors when she unlocks the cage. Our leashes are tied on, and we are lead to the showers.

"Fifteen minutes starts now." Dimentia tells us.

We nod, wordlessly and walk into the room, shutting the doors behind us.

I am fortunate enough to have cellmates who have enough respect for each other not to stare or touch or worse when we have to strip naked in front of each other. The first time I had to do so in front of Richard and Ash, all I could think was, _Yes, indeed. Gomez is going to have Dr. Nightshade's head._

I carefully conceal the key in my clothes and we all walked to our showerheads. A sad routine, really, but nonetheless a routine. The only routine Evil has ever known. Perhaps, that is why she was so passionate when it got rescheduled that first time I met her.

I shave and clean up best I can, and have become quite the expert at doing so, given my height and our time frame. People can say what they would like about long legs, the price of having them is that it takes an extremely long amount time to shave. But, when forced into this situation, I've learned to do everything simultaneously.

I really have never had hair on my arms, but as I praise myself for doing this without bleeding, I realize that water is not supposed to be red and instantly think I have cut myself. Oh, am I wrong.

Upon further inspection, I realize that my menstrual flow has started up again, and I do not think this place has complementary feminine products.

I curse and finish showering, making sure the key is tucked safely in my panties and slip my hospital gown up over my head.

Evil asks what's wrong and quietly, I explain.

She nods. "I hate it when that happens. Hold on." Evil grabs a small, semi-thin rag and hands it to me. "Just put it in there. That's what I do."

I sigh, and say, sarcastically, "I'm guessing you don't have any tampons?"

"A what now?" She asks, confused.

I forget that she's always lived here. "It's a..." I sigh. "Never mind, dear. Thank you."

I tuck the uncomfortable rag into my panties, walking out with the others.

We are leashed-up again and shoved back into our cage.

Nobody says anything about my... incident. God, this is embarrassing. Who treats people like this?

I lean against the cage, cramping and put my knees up, my head leaning on them.

"Hey, Morticia?" Evil looks at me, from the opposite end of the cage.

Unmoving, but my eyes meeting hers, I respond. "Yes?"

She smiles. "I'm in."

With those words, my cellmates walk over to me and put their hands on mine.

 _"Let's give Dimentia a taste of her own drugs."_

"Agreed." I say and we throw our hands up.

The plan is set. It is official. Mon cher is coming, and we are leaving. Soon, as soon as a minute from now, or a week. But soon.

I re-style my hair in that same bun with a strand hanging down, and I smile. Gomez calls it my _Mona Lisa smile_ because my smile is not exactly what most would call a smile. I show no teeth, and... let me put it this way (as my father used to say): at weddings, I look more like I am watching the blood pour from the skulls of my enemies than excited that the couple in front of me is getting married. And although my mouth just curves on the end and my eyes are the things that truly look happy, I am happier than most, probably happier than the bride at this hypothetical wedding. Because when I do smile, it is usually because Gomez's arms are around me. While that is not the case this time, it will be soon. And I am smiling at that thought.

In about three hours, Dimentia approaches the cage again and drags me out of it.

Then, I am taken, once again to have something or other injected into my body.


	16. Hell Has No Fury Like That

Chapter 14: Hell Has No Fury Like That of Mr. Morticia Addams

 _I remember a quote that I found, but I could not figure out whom created it. This quote, it contained some of the most powerful words I had ever heard. So, powerful, in fact, they haunt me in my dreams. I love it. This quote, is a quote I have lived by ever since I discovered it fifteen years ago._

 _"The devil whispered in my ear, **you aren't strong enough to withstand the storm.**_

 _Today, I whispered in the devil's ear, **I am the storm.** "_

 _~I Am the Storm, A Quote_

 _Morticia Addams_

 _March 28th, 1986_

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

It is the March 28th, the seventeenth day, at long last. God, my nerves are eating me alive at what might happen to her, to us. If something happens to me, I cannot save her. If something happens to her, nobody can stop me from killing myself.

I am agitated beyond belief, and I now believe that Iridis is no longer a threat, my friends are. As they, are ready to throw me out of the car and run my ungrateful ass over.

"Are we there yet?" I ask, like a whining five-year-old child on their way to the Museum of Torture.

"Not yet, Timmy. Would you like some milk and graham crackers?" Danté rolls his eyes.

"Leave him alone, _dad_!" Enrique stands up for me. "He's worried about his wife."

"Your five years old, Timmy, you shouldn't be worrying about these kinds of things!" Danté yells.

I chuckle. "Replace _Timmy_ with _Gomez_ right now and this is the exact conversation I had with my father when I introduced him to my first girlfriend."

The crew laughs.

"You fucked at five?" Santiago was always the sick one.

"No, idiot." I slap him on the back. "Fifteen, yes, but not five." I pause. "I smoked when I was five."

Fred laughs. "Ah, yes, mother insisted."

It then becomes eerily silent, and we all turn to Fred. The crew's eyes shift from me, to Fred, and back to me again... waiting.

"How did you know that?" I ask.

Fred seems like he is desperately trying to cover his ass. "I... I... my mother said the same thing when I was a kid. I just, got caught up in a nostalgic moment for a minute. Sorry."

The tension in the room eases, and I sigh. "No worries, old man."

We continue to talk for about five minutes.

Then, Danté speaks again. "Hey, Timmy?"

I look up. "Yes, father?"

He pulls into the back of a large, vacant lot. I freeze.

"Ask if we're there yet."

I gulp. "Are we there yet?"

Danté nods. "Yep."

I am overjoyed but also more anxious than I have ever been. I practically leap out of the bus but Enrique pulls me back to my seat.

 _"What the hell, Enrique? You know I-"_

"Calm down, amigo! We cannot just barge in. Nobody can save Morticia if you are apprehended!" He cuts me off.

I nod. He is right. "I apologize, amigo. It just hurts me in more ways than you will ever know that I am mere feet away from Tish and she is probably being tortured in there."

Enrique pats my shoulder. "Alright, let's discuss the plan." He begins.

"We have to split up." Juan Diego is leaning in, as are the rest of us.

We all nod in agreement.

"Alright, how many floors are in this building?" I ask, hoping someone will know the answer.

"I don't know." Enrique shakes his head. "But I know who will. Quick, text Josh."

I do, and within two minutes I get a response.

 _12:00 pm- Josh: Hey, Gomez! So I was able 2 hack the system & there r 5 floors & a basement. Good luck, bring home my queen!_

I smile. One has to smile when it comes to Josh. "Five floors and a basement." I inform the crew.

"Alright, and there are..." Enrique counts. "Seven of us. Alright, Gomez and Fred, you take the top floor. I'll take the fourth. Acid, you and Regina take the first. One of you can go down into the basement. Juan Diego, you're in charge of the second floor and Santiago?"

Santiago looks at Enrique. "Let me guess, I am in charge of the third floor?" He asks, sarcastically.

 _"Very good."_ Enrique claps, annoyed. "Let me guess, you only know _ABC_ letters _A_ through _C_?"

"Want a fist in your face?" Santiago pretends he is going to punch him.

"Want a foot up your ass?" Enrique asks.

Santiago calms down.

Enrique continues. "Third floor, amigo."

Santiago nods. "Alright."

"What do you think, Fred?" I ask him.

Fred sighs. "I... I think this is ridiculous. Just go through the front door."

The front door? Really, how naive is this man? "Fred, do you not think they would ambush us immediately?"

He again, tries to explain this away. "Well, they wouldn't be prepared. If you mow down each-"

"Fred, mowing them down does not always work. They rise up." I remind him.

"Well, I know but I mean... perhaps-"

 _"Fred,"_ I cut him off. "I appreciate the help you have given but we have a strategy here and we cannot change it now."

Fred nods, hesitantly. "Are you sure we can't-"

 _"Yes."_ I make sure everyone in the crew has their weapons at the ready, and that Fred carries Dantè's old gun.

"Well, I am going through the front." Fred stands with his argument.

I sigh and shake my head. Oddly, I want to protect this Fred but my urge to save my carita is stronger. So, I say nothing but, "Then, I wish you luck, my friend. And thank you for the much-needed assistance."

We disperse, Danté wishing us luck and being instructed to pull up to the front if he receives a text message that says _apple_ before it.

I skillfully scale the wall of the building. It has a little amount of windows but the exterior is the spawn of a jagged cliff and rough sandpaper. So, I climb until I get to a platform with a chimney on it, and the smoke emanating from it produces an odour of chemicals, and death. I hop to the platform and realize that it is right before the fifth-floor window.

I draw my weapons and jump, crashing through the window. It takes not a second to get my bearings, and I notice that I am in a hallway. The site terrifies me.

There are doctors in lab coats with human parts, needles, liquids and some with organs laid out on trays. There are a select few with animals in test tubes. Worse, the hallway looks exactly like the one from my dream. White, hospital-asylum hybrid but... where is Morticia?

I am up now, and I hear the alarms go off. They are louder than those for a tornado warning, and very well may be audio-recordings pf the sounds of hell.

Doctors chase after me, with tools, all that they have. I aim for their hearts or jugulars, and shoot. Unlike the agents we battled for what feels like an eternity, these doctors all fall down, dead.

I smile, knowing I have rid the world of some of the people who had the audacity to hurt my Tish.

I run, then, knowing that more doctors will soon take after me. I mow down doctor after doctor like it's a carnival game, and the prize is my querida. And I do not care how many lives it costs me, I will obtain her.

I end up taking out most of the doctors on the fifth floor, but not enough. I am about to walk through a set of double doors but I am grabbed from behind and dragged to a flight of stairs. One fatal fall and nobody can save me or Tish. I shoot him in his groin, as I did once with one of his cohorts. It works.

He releases me, but I fall. Luckily, it is not a fatal one. I grab the railing of the stairs and hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the fourth floor.

Worried it is one of the crew, or Tish, I run down to the fourth floor and find dead bodies, all around. Some are of emaciated people in hospital gowns, and they look terrible. I am worried now, more than ever, what they are doing with Morticia.

But, in the middle of it all, is Enrique.

Before Enrique, now, is Judge George Womack. _The bastard._ He is in on this as well! Enrique has his gun aimed at George's head.

"Please. It was all a big misunderstanding. I have a granddaughter, Cassie. I can't leave her." George folds his hands in front of him, pleading.

Slowly, I walk toward the scene and Enrique gives a small nod to acknowledge my presence. I am now standing next to him.

Enrique laughs. "Please, George. You haven't seen Cassie in years." He does not know George, but he is a magnificent judge of character. And he is absolutely right.

I didn't know Cassie existed until mine and George's mail got switched and I saw a letter from her, last month.

 _"You don't know that!"_ Womack yells. Then he looks at me. "Please, I'll make it up to you, and, and to your lovely wife, Tish."

Alright. That is it. My eye begins to twitch. _Nobody_ calls that woman _Tish_ but me.

Enrique does not stop aiming his gun, but he, too, turns his head to me. "Your call." He says.

Womack is perspiring heavily, and his eyes well up with tears. _"Please... you don't want your beautiful wife to know you killed someone."_ He then got an evil look in his eye. "She is a beautiful woman, Gomez. Or -by now- should I say, _was_?"

"What do you know?" I pretend like I am going to spare him.

"Well... lower the gun and I'll tell you." He replies.

Ha! I can tell he knows nothing, especially now. He just believes that this will sway me. And as afraid as I am, I remember who Morticia is. She is strong, and I know I'll only be rewarded when she knows I let this man die, for her. I know that I have half the crew in search of her. Not wanting to waste any bullets, I turn to Enrique. _"Put a bullet in his head."_ I command, coldly.

"Wise choice." Enrique says and cocks the gun.

Womack's eyes have grown to the size of the bullets that will soon penetrate his body. _"Gomez-"_

And fires.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

Oh, dear God. It's true. He is finally here.

I smile as I lean against the cage, and I cry, listening to the screams of those doctors as they are shot down.

I am sick now, sicker than I ever thought possible. The drugs have taken such a heavy toll, my vomit is black and sometimes, I hallucinate. Nothing major, but it is enough. Once, I saw Hernus and talked to him for three minutes, only for him to actually enter the cage ten minutes later. I am weak, and it hurts to move. But, I did. I moved because I had been preparing for this moment. The moment when Gomez would come for us. And he is here. I can feel it in my gut, he is here.

I quickly pull the key, stained with a bit of blood, out of my panties.

 _"Go!"_ I yell at my cellmates.

They get in place, and once Emily is behind me, I unlock the cage.

Half-liberated, we get into position and Richard stays.

I run with Emily, Ash and Evil behind us, guarding us.

We get to the door and run out, when a doctor sees us.

Emily turns, afraid and freezes.

 _"Emily, come on!_ " I grab her.

She moves not. _"Emily, please, we have to go. It will be okay, we have to go! Now!"_

The doctor stops, and falls down, as Evil has just driven one of her tools through her back.

She cuts the leash of the woman, whom was behind held by the doctor, using the tool.

The woman, shaky, stands. She is a twig, and has thin, platinum blonde hair. She looks around forty years old. She stares at Emily.

Emily is crying a river. "M... _mom_?"

Oh. My. God. Is it?

The woman nods and runs to her, embracing her. "Emily! Emily, Emily, dear, you're alright!"

Emily cries and lets her mother console her. _"Mom! Mommy, they took you! God, I thought you were dead or worse!"_

 _"Worse!"_ The woman practically squeezes the life out of her.

I smile, but Evil yells at them. "Break it up, _now! They're coming!_ "

Emily and her mother, in a panic, run down the second hallway but Ash and Evil guard me. We now have three doctors chasing after us, and one of them has a gun.

I almost get to the doors marked, _staff_ when I hear a cry.

I turn, and see Evil has been shot, in the shoulder. She is down but not out, and all of the doctors chase after us.

Having no other options, we continue to run and I go through the doors. All I can hear are screams of _Bitch!_ , _No!_ , _What have you done?_ and _You'll pay for this!_ as I fumble with the key, standing before the button. I knew it was there.

Ash is near me, but a bit aways, and one doctor is running after him. _"Run!"_ I shout.

Ash shakes his head. "But, Morticia, the plan-"

I shake my head. _"Fuck the plan, Ash! Go, now!"_ I yell and without a second thought, press the large, red button.

I hear shrieking, the opening of cages and doors, and the stomping of feet. Then, come the horrifying screams of inmates and doctors alike as they fight for dominance, and win only death.

I am about to run on, but I look down just in time to see Hernus. In his mouth, is an injection... labeled, _antidote_.

 _"I love you."_ I say and take it from him. This thing, will save my life right now. _Antidote_ , of course. They need one, in case of accident. In case they need to rid someone of the effects of the drugs for whatever reason. I quickly inject the clear liquid into my vein and instantly feel better. Sick, and weak, but no urges to vomit up blood, no shakiness... I want to squeeze the cat and never let him go, but I cannot.

We take off running, and come to a flight of stairs. I assume it leads down to the second floor.

At some point, between the stairs and the second floor, I have lost Hernus. I care, and I worry, but I must run on. I have to find Gomez, and we have to save as many people as we can. In doing so, we have to end the lives of as many damned doctors as we can.

The second-floor hallway is a chilling sight indeed. There are bodies, lying all over the floor like a morbid carpet. Normally, I'd like that. But some of these bodies are of patients, and I don't like that... I resent that.

I find a dead doctor on the ground, a gun, melodramatically laid in his arms.

I pick it up and check for bullets. I am not disappointed, it has some. I grab the gun and walk on until I must run again. Doctors, who are very much alive, take after me and I run, shooting whomever I can.

I do not care who I have to take out, I have to find Gomez... even if it means losing quite a few people (if we can even call them that).

(Hailie's P.O.V.)

I am extremely worried about Morticia. We are best friends. I got pregnant in my junior year of high school and she was right there, supporting me through the toughest year of my life. I was there for her when her father died, and when those assholes tricked her at the prom... I even helped land her that job as a cocktail waitress. All she had to do was lie about her age.

I am heartbroken, and worried. So like any, well-minded, right-thinking best friend, I get drunk... every day. I am not irresponsible, when drunk, I just get... funny.

The only thing I regret is trying to hump Josh. Normally, I would never, but... it almost happened. Josh and I laughed it off and now we are watching _Designing Women_ and drinking tea. He's cut me off for the night.

Esmeralda is cooking dinner in the kitchen and Josh is half-complementing the characters, while half-quoting their lines.

"Yes, queen! _And I'd like to thank you, Ray Don._ Slay bitch." Josh shakes his head, and sips his tea.

I laugh. "I'm worried about Morticia." I say, for the umpteenth time today.

Josh, empathetic, puts his arm around me. "I hope they're doing alright."

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

I am gunning down one Iridis employee after another, a never-ending cycle. Whilst spilling the blood my enemies, I am searching for my darling. I cannot seem to find her anywhere, and I let my thoughts make me paranoid. They are a shark and I am a piece of red meat, slowly being devoured by the Great White.

Fred and I found each other about twenty minutes ago, and since the hallway is cleared of doctors, for now, we decide to split off again.

What has been eating at me (not nearly as much as my paranoia, however) is how familiar this Fred is. It is almost like I share some sort of brotherly connection with him, and I hardly know anything about him.

Fred runs off, re-loading his gun, and drops his precious sac.

I cannot stop him from taking off, so I pick up the bag instead. I am not a clumsy man, but te bag is indeed flimsy and its contents spill.

I witness the diary that Fred had mentioned fly open, and before I can stop myself, I begin to read. Two sentences, but it is enough to break my heart.

 _I have struggled with it and I have to do it, but I can't. He's my brother._

 _He's my brother._ All I can hear are those words, and I make the connection as to where I know that voice. It was Fester. From the very beginning, it was Fester. Fester is Fred and he was playing me like a broken fiddle since day one.

It all makes sense. The hair, it is a wig, that is why it does not fit his face. The big eyes, but their colour... contacts. His non-existent fighting skills, he was never a cop nor a security guard. Concealer for the pronounced bags he always had under his eyes... disgusting. The whole thing is disgusting. How in the hell could he betray me like that? _My own damn brother?_ After every blessed thing I have done for that man... after the way he left? And he has the audacity to try and hurt me again one more time? As if I haven't suffered enough.

At once, I text-alert the crew.

 _4:00 pm- Me: Crew, URGENT: Fred is Fester, and he is not who he seems. He is NOT ON OUR SIDE. DO NOT TRUST HIM. Keep fighting. Find Tish._

A doctor grabs me by the neck and I struggle but cannot seem to grab my gun.

Before I got much of a chance, I feel blood drip onto my chest and open jacket-shirt. The pressure loosens, and the doctor stumbles back.

I turn, and see that he is fatally wounded. I shoot him in the heart, then, finishing him off.

 _"Gomez!"_

That voice. I freeze and turn around to see who fired the shot, having a gut feeling I know exactly who it is.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

 _"Cara mia!"_ I hear Gomez call to me.

I cry, breaking down in tears, ready to fall to my knees. He sees me, he sees me. _"Mon cher!"_ I call.

Gomez is quite a mess of tears himself, but my does he look sexy. Never have I seen him with his chest fully exposed like that in a flannel, looking like he came out of some gothic action movie. I have a feeling he did this for me.

I run to him but I collapse, out of pure exhaustion.

Gomez begins to run towards me but freezes. I slowly look to my right, and I see the gun... aimed at my head.

Behind it, is Fester.

"Gomez... _I'm sorry._ " I say to him, silent tears falling down my face. "I wish I could have somehow told you he was here. I-"

 _"Shut up!"_ I hear Dimentia yell. She has a hand, squeezing Fester's shoulder and eyes me, evilly.

I remain silent, not wanting to be killed and refusing to force Gomez to watch it happen because I did not hold my tongue.

I now realize that Enrique and the rest of Gomez's friends are standing near us. But they are all being held back by people in all white combat-attire.

I cannot help the tears that are falling now.

 _"You sick bastard."_ Gomez is spitting fire at Fester. _"After everything we have been through, and you betray me like this? How dare you?"_

Fester is trembling. "I'm sorry, Gomez-"

 _"Bullshit."_ Gomez cuts him off, red hot tears of fury and hurt burning in his eyes.

"You don't stop making him uneasy and we blow the bitch's head off." Dimentia threatens him.

Gomez looks at me, and I give him the most worried, wounded look in return. I am both hurt that his own brother would betray us, and worried, terrified that these people are going to kill me. I do not fear death, but I do fear losing Gomez. We will go together, and I refuse to let it end like this.

Gomez immediately turns to Dimentia and Fester. "I'll give you anything you want!" His voice does not shake, but I can tell he is petrified. _"Money, diamonds, nothing is as precious as Morticia."_

I hold back a sob.

"We don't want your fucking fortune." Dr. Nightshade steadies the gun in Fester's hand. "Do we, Fester?" She asks.

Fester shakes his head. "N... no, no we don't."

"What do we want?" She asks him.

"We want..." Fester pauses. "What do we want?"

 _"We want-"_ Dr. Nightshade restrains herself from blowing her top. "We want _Morticia_ , Fester. _We want them to surrender, dear._ "

A master manipulator, that wretch is.

Fester turns to Gomez but keeps the gun aimed at me. "If you don't give up... she dies."

Gomez shakes his head. "Fester, I have something to tell you."

Fester is shaking again. "No."

 _"Yes."_ Gomez demands. "Debutant Hall. Do you remember that fateful night?"

Slowly, he nods, now crying.

Gomez continues. "You decided you were done with me because I made it with the twins."

"We are _done_ with-"

He cuts Dimentia off. _"But, I didn't!"_ He cries. "I didn't. We made out a bit and we went back downstairs. It does not make what I did or why I did it okay. But I was a cad. It had nothing to do with you. I _loved_ you, I _still_ love you. You're my brother, Fester. I never meant to hurt you."

"G-Gomez..." The gun is shaking so much, it instills more fear in my heart.

 _"Fester!"_ Dimentia motions towards me.

Gomez does not stop talking. "Fester, you told me that when I was older, I would be the same cad, still screwing meaningless women. And I saw pride in your eyes when you found out you were wrong. You were wrong because eleven years ago, I found Tish." He looks me in the eyes, and amidst our tears, there is a burning passion for each other. "Morticia understands me like nobody else ever could. She opened up to me in ways she never had with anyone else before. She is not only beautiful, but her mind and soul are incredibly strong. And..." He looks into my eyes. "Tish, you are the glue that keeps this family together. You are my world, my life, my oxygen. Without you, I am nothing. I _have_ nothing, amore. I love you, cara mia, more than anyone or anything in this world and I always will. And I am so sorry for all of this." He turns back to Fester. "She saved my life, Fester. Now, I am asking you, after everything she has done in her life, and for your little brother, to save hers."

Up until this point, Fester has refused to look me in the eyes. But now, he does. And when he does, he lowers the gun.

Dr. Nightshade's voice is shaky. "Fester... if you do this, _we can be together!_ "

Fester shakes his head. "No."

 _"What?"_ She asks. _"No. No, you love me."_

 _"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc."_ Fester speaks.

Yes. He is a true Addams.

 _"What the hell does that mean?"_ Dimentia asks.

He aims the gun, now with a full face of clear, sad, makeup, at Dimentia.

"We gladly feast on those... who would subdue us."

Wasting no time, I run towards Gomez, but when I am at a smidge more than arm's length, Dr. Nightshade yells.

 _"You fire at me and they fire at her!"_ She shouts.

I stop dead in my tracks, as does Gomez. The _Iridis_ employees are forcing the crew's guns to be aimed at me.

There is a silent, unmoving standoff. We stand or in my case, sit, in silence.

At least, until we hear the sound of gunfire.

There are five, dead Iridis employees on the ground. They have all been gunned down, by Emily.

Emily is smiling and holds a machine gun in her hand. "I had to come back for you, Morticia." She says. "I don't ever leave family."

I smile at her, through my tears and want so badly to run to Gomez.

Dr. Nightshade grabs a gun off of the ground and aims it at Gomez before anyone can react.

 _"You fucker!"_ She yells at him, spasmodic. _"You did this! You ruined me!"_ She raises the gun.

 _"Dimentia, no-"_

Fester is cut off by the firing of her gun. But I run and jump out before Gomez. And-

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

 _No. No, no, no, no. Not this, anything but this._

Right after the shot is fired, Dr. Nightshade is shot by Enrique and the crew rush over to me but I motion for them to give me space.

I am holding Morticia, sobbing, wailing, screaming, desperately hoping that the bullet didn't penetrate her heart or her brain or at all.

I cannot lose her, she is my everything. My entire life happily revolves around that woman, if I lose her, I lose everything.

I push the strand of black hair out of her beautiful face... and her eyes are closed.

 _"No!"_ I cry. _"God, no. Please, Tish. Please don't leave me, please..."_ I watch as a small pool of blood forms on the floor. She cannot be... I cannot even bring myself to think she's... "Please, you will _not_ leave me like this, not at all. _I won't allow it._ Pugsley and Wednesday need you, _I_ need you. Morticia, I need you... I need you, amore. You're my universe, the air I breath... _I cannot lose my oxygen._ " I wrap around her, my tears falling onto her porcelain cheeks.

I feel a cold hand on my cheek and I turn my head.

There my Tish is, eyes open, alive and not dying.

 _"Cara mia!"_ My eyes grow ten times their size.

 _"Mon amour."_ She cries, and I caress her cheek.

I let my lips crash into hers, desperate for her touch. " _To live without you, only that would-be torture."_ I say to her.

Morticia lets her long nails run over my cheek and wraps her arms around my neck. _"A day alone,"_ she lets out a weak sigh. _"Only that would-be death."_

I French her, I gently take the bun out of her hair and run my fingers through it, I do all but make love to her. I let my tongue roam around her mouth and take her hand after her nails trace over my chest.

I stop and examine where the blood is coming from.

I see that the bullet penetrated an already dead Iridis agent. I breathe a sigh of relief. I then finally understand she is bleeding from her lower zone. _"Morticia...?"_ I am worried, worried something is very wrong.

Morticia wraps my hands around her waist and looks me in the eyes. "My friend came, trashed my house, and shit in my bed." She explains. "I had nothing here to clean up their mess with."

I understand and I feel terrible that they put her through all of this. They aren't human to do this to my querida, not at all.

I roll my eyes and laugh at the way she can turn a colourful phrase. "But, why didn't you open your eyes?"

"A couple of reasons. One, I was wincing in pain, Two, I was winded and three... at the very end, I let it go on just a smidge longer because I desperately needed to hear those words." She explains.

I laugh. _"I love you, Tish."_

She kisses me and grabs me, desperately, and I do the same. We do not want to let go of each other, ever, ever again.

 _"I love you, Gomez."_ She responds between breaths and wordless declarations of devotion and adoration.

Enrique clears his throat. "I hate to break you up. But, you need to get her out of here. We will save any inmates we can find and meet you back at the car. Alright, amigo?"

I stand and help my dark bride to her feet, as she is very, physically weak.

Arm in arm, we walk over to Enrique.

"Thank you, Enrique. All of you, for-" Morticia then sees Regina and becomes furious. _"Gomez, what is she doing-"_

Regina rolls her eyes. "Helping hubby save your ass, _you're welcome._ "

I rub Morticia's back and squeeze her shoulder. "We needed her for this."

Morticia nods, digesting it all.

I sigh. "Trust me, I'm not happy about it either." I tell her.

"Well, thank you." She says to everyone.

Fester approaches us, with caution.

I embrace him and he kisses Morticia's hand.

"I was a coward, Gomez, Morticia. And I am so sorry."

Morticia shakes her head. "No, I'd say you were very brave. It isn't easy to do what you did."

Fester nods. "No, but it's easier when you're an Addams."

I now recognize him. He has his bags, and big, brown eyes back. He is also bald again.

"Does this mean you're coming home, old man?" I ask.

Fester appears shocked. "If you'll have me?"

Morticia and I both nod in agreement.

"Of course, I'd love to get to know Gomez's brother. What better way to get acquainted than to live together?" Another reason why I adore the woman in my arms. She is more loyal than anyone I know.

We agree that I will escort her out, but she begins to walk up the stairs.

"Tish, what are you doing?" I ask and take after her.

"I won't leave without Hernus!" She explains.

I am very confused. "Who's Hernus?"

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I run up to the third floor, making sure Gomez is behind me. "My cat." I explain, out of breath.

Gomez gives me one of his guns, and we each open door after door, and every time Gomez is horrified at what I have been subjected to.

Finally, I open the right door.

I burst into the room and aim the gun at a disheveled-looking Rose. She is in a pink Casmir nightgown and white high heels. Her hair is pinned up, and she is grinning maniacally while pressing a knife to my cat's throat, who is standing, helpless on a small table.

 _"You fucked up!"_ She screams at it. _"You fucked up, you asshole! All I asked for was red eyes, not superior intellect!"_ She does not see me.

But what truly infuriates me... I see my wedding ring, gleaming on her finger.

My gun is aimed at her and she looks up. I throw Rose's own, evil words back at her. _"Give me the ring, bitch!"_

Before wither my confused husband or Rose can react, I blow her head off and Hernus meows, happily.

"She took your wedding ring?" Gomez asks, pissed beyond belief.

"Yes." I say and take the ring off of Rose's finger. I wipe the blood off of it and hand the ring to Gomez.

He kisses my hand and slips the ring on my finger. "Now, this is back to its keeper..." He continues to sensually kiss me up my arm. "And so am I."

He gets to my neck and soon captures my lips. I was right. Everything was worth it. He is here with me and he will be forever.

I bend down and Hernus jumps into my arms.

Then, before exiting, I bend down by the deceased Rose's ear, and whisper. "Ironic, isn't it? You were the one who kept me from _sleeping with the crazies_ , and now you're sleeping for eternity."

I hand the other gun to Gomez and walk down the hall with him. He shoots a doctor walking by in the head and continues to walk with me, his arm, tight around my waist.

"A new pet, querida?" He raises an eyebrow as he helps me walk down the stairs, with Hernus in my arms and with how weak I am right now.

"Qui, mon cher." I reply. "He will make a wonderful addition to our family."

Gomez leads me down the stairs, casually killing off any doctor who dare approach us, and I feel safer than I have felt in over two weeks.

The feel of his fingers on my back is one I treasure, and I cannot wait until I can get some much-needed rest in his arms on our ride home.

We walk out of the front, and Gomez pulls out a cellphone.

"You bought a phone?" I raise an eyebrow.

He nods. "Yes, but I am having Lurch put it away once we arrive home. I hate the blasted thing, it serves no purpose unless you are in a situation such as this."

I give a barely audible laugh. "I've missed you more than words could ever describe." I say.

Gomez pulls me close and kisses my neck, hard and tender, all at once.

I moan. "And I've missed the way you do that."

Soon, we are approached by Ash, Emily and Emily's mother.

Emily runs up and embraces me, I gently set Hernus down and he sits at my feet, patiently.

I kiss her forehead. "I told you we'd make it out."

Emily smiles at me, crying. "And I believed you. Please, can I call you? I don't want to lose you as a friend, sister-person." She tries to explain.

"Don't worry, dear, I'll find you." I reply.

Emily smiles at Gomez. "Gomez, I'm Emily. Your wife, although I am sure you already are aware, is the strongest, most beautiful person there ever was. And it's a damn shame that not everybody sees that. She took care of me in there. And she will never know the full extent of my gratitude."

Gomez kisses Emily's hand. "It's a pleasure, Emily. And yes, my darling black angel is the best woman I have ever met."

I look away, briefly, then I take Emily's hands. "Thank you, Emily, dear. And you will be alright. I will find you, I promise." I then turn to Gomez and he kisses my fingers. "And thank you, mon amour... for everything."

"No, thank you, querida. All I did these two weeks was miss you."

"All I tried to dream of was the touch of your lips." I traced a finger over his lips.

"All I ever thought about was our beautiful memories." He kisses the finger pressed to his lips.

"The fire?"

"And the snow?"

"And that blanket?"

"And the wine?"

"Mon amour..." I lean in and wrap my arms around his neck. _"Je t'aime."_

"Carita mia... eres divina." He moans and kisses me, lifting me and holding me, bridal style, in his arms.

Ash approaches us. "Hey, Morticia... thanks, everything you did for us in there... don't forget about us, ok?"

My head rests on Gomez's shoulder. "Of course not, Ash. I never forget family." I reply.

Ash holds out his hand and I give him mine. He kisses it and looks at Gomez. "Your wife was right abo three things. _One_ , kissing the hand of a lady really wins her over. _Two,_ you were coming to save us and _three,_ you are really hot and I'm currently in a heterosexual relationship."

Gomez laughs. "Thank you, Ash. And yes, my wife is right about a lot of things."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

He chuckles and rephrases. "Everything." He kisses me. "You're right about everything and you _are_ my everything."

"You always know just what to say to cover your ass." I joke.

"Yes, and I know just what to do to get to see yours." He shoots back.

" _Mmm... I know._ And soon, you will, just be patient."

He plants his lips on my neck. "I can never be patient with you. At the sight of those legs... _my blood boils._ "

"Oh, and at the touch of those lips..." I sigh, happy to be back in my darling's arms. _"As does mine."_

Emily's mother is the last to approach us. "I'm Mary, Emily's mother." Mary seems timid. Like mother, like daughter. "I want to thank you for taking care of my Emily."

I smile. "I want to congratulate you on raising such an _intelligent, brave_ young woman."

Mary beams. "She wants to go to Harvard." she says. "She is so smart, and she deserves it. Do you know of where we could find jobs to get on our feet?"

Gomez and I share a look.

"No, but I am giving both Ash and Emily one million dollars each. Once I find you, I will be inviting you over and I'll give it to you there." I say.

Mary cries. "No, I couldn't take your money."

"I insist, darling. And we'll make sure to put in a nice, round figure for the little boy as well, Bryan? Yes, he deserves it."

Mary walks back with her family. "Thank you, Morticia."

Right after Mary speaks, a black party bus pulls up to the front of the building.

Tired, I nuzzle into Gomez's neck. Everything is catching up to me, and wearing me out. "Is that for us?" I ask, closing my eyes and breathing in Gomez's scent.

I feel Gomez nod and his chin rests on my head. "Yes, my dearest."

"You're not going to let go of me, right?" I ask, sounding sleepy and vulnerable.

"Never again." Gomez replies and carries me into the bus. _"She's back, and we have a cat!"_

Gomez's friends and Fester all cheer.

I click my teeth and Hernus casually walks onto the bus, and sits next to Fester.

"Amigo, I didn't know you were a cat person!" Juan Diego laughs.

Gomez looks at me, adoringly and turns back to Juan Diego, briefly. "Well, I am now." He replies and sits down.

Gomez and I have a lot of space, and I am thankful for it. I put my legs up on the seat and sit sideways in his lap, my back, facing the window.

Gomez slips his shirt off and props it behind my back, a makeshift pillow.

"Thank you, darling." I get comfortable in his embrace and finally, Enrique clears his throat.

"Morticia... there is something I have to tell you."

I do not move that much, but I look at him. "Yes?"

Enrique hesitates.

"Come on, rip off the band-aid!" Regina yells.

Enrique nods and looks me in the eyes. "We killed most of the doctors. Evil is leading the remaining fifty inmates including Emily, her mother and Ash, away from here."

I catch on. "What about Richard?"

Enrique bows his head. "He fought, hard. But Richard... he didn't make it out alive."

I feel awful. It is sick irony, that it is what it is. For years, he believed that everyone would die here. And as soon as he almost changed his tune, he did die here.

"Oh, no." I sigh. "Well, thank you for telling me."

I watch the inmates walk into my view, led by Evil. She looks into my window and waves to me, in tears and smiling. A tear runs down my cheek and I wink. She winks back, and our gaze breaks.

Gomez, a bit confused but knowing I am upset, pushes the hair out of my face and kisses my cheek. "I am sorry, cara mia."

I burry my head in him again. My entire body aches. "It's alright, mon cher."

Gomez pushes my hair to the side and begins to massage my neck and shoulders. It feels like a weight has been lifted. I have not had Gomez to do anything for me these past two weeks, and I am soaking up all of the affection like Hernus is right now with Fester.

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Having Tish back means the world to me, and I could not ask for anything more. That woman has me wrapped around her finger. I had not even been holding her for three minutes when I started giving her a shoulder massage and reassuring her that I was right here if she needed anything. Of course, all she needed was me. Which worked out because she is all I'll ever need.

Enrique realizes something. "Danté, the whole place is burning! There's going to be a bomb because of those chemicals in like, _zero minutes!_ "

Danté nods. _"On it!"_

Tish and I notice Dr. Winthrop, yelling for help by the third-floor window.

Danté steps on the gas and just as he drives away, there is an explosion, and it desecrates _Iridis_. The sound is of hundreds of firecrackers being blown off. There should be fireworks, my angel of bleakness is safe at last.

Morticia cranes her neck, and I gently massage it back to where she had it. "I did it." She says, smiling, slightly at the disaster area. "I fired him."

That she did. We did. At last, we actually did it.

All I can think about as we drive away from the scene, our weapons lost in the explosion, is my Tish. I am wrapped around her finger more than her wedding band is, and I would not have it any other way. I even proved to be right. We had a war, and my hands were anything but not on her. I shower her in affectionate kisses every two seconds, and do everything I can to keep her comfortable. I am more than happy to comply with her only request, which is for me to hold her and tell her how much I love her and missed her. And that, I was going to do anyways.

I do not know the full extent of what happened to her in there, but I know she will tell me. Because another thing we were both right about, was that hell has no fury like that, of Mr. Morticia Addams.


	17. I Killed For Her, I Live For Her

Chapter 15: I Have Killed for Her, And I Live for Her

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

We have been driving for an entire day. Well, Danté has been driving. I have been holding my only and thanking the universe that she is safe, and back in my arms. I rub off every cramp, kiss away every tear and talk to her. I have been starved for a conversation with her.

I have learned of the horrours they put her through, and for that I hope they burned alive, and that their suffering was prolonged for hours and hours of agony. I found that they forced her to take some awful drugs, and Dr. Winthrop all but raped her. I never want to see Judge Womack's house every again. So, I am going to call Tully, have some strings pulled and get that house demolished, before Morticia is welcomed home. Money can buy many things, and it can certainly get rid of that painful reminder of the hell we went through.

I learned that they made her shower with other people, two of which were men. And it made me want to murder those creatures all over again. To think, that any other man laid eyes on her beautiful body... I want to break those doctors' bones with my own two hands. But their dead, and that should be enough. And while I may still have the desire to watch them bleed, my querida is with me and that is all I truly care about.

Amidst our conversations and declarations of love, Danté sometimes turns the radio on and everyone on the bus claps and cheers, and celebrates. And they should, there should be dancing in the streets that we have her back again.

I can hear her stomach growl, and I know it is because she only ate twice a week. She lost weight, but she remained strong and did not lose her gorgeous figure. I am determined to get her weight back up, however, and I order Danté to pull into the first drive-thru we come across.

"Drive-thru!" Danté pulls into the drive-thru line at _McDonald's_.

I look down and notice that she is asleep. Gently, I stroke her cheek. "Tish, my darling, I have something for you."

Her beautiful eyes flutter open and she sleepily looks out the window. _"McDonald's?"_ She asks.

"You have to eat, mi corazón." I explain.

She nods and kisses me. "Thank you, darling."

I grip her waist. "Oh, Tish, I could not have done it if not for everyone here."

She turns to the crew. "Thank you." She smiles.

"Morticia, when we heard you were in danger, we had to help." Enrique speaks. "We all love you."

"Thank you, and I love you all too." She replies. "We really should have you over more often, we've missed you."

"Ok, but on one condition: don't let me walk in on you for a thirteenth time?"

Morticia laughs. "No promises." She kisses me, and wraps her arms around my neck.

One thing leads to another and I grab her ass. She moans in my mouth.

Acid throws my words back at me. "Perhaps you should retire?"

I groan. "Mmm... perhaps I should."

"Well, alright, I'll count this as thirteen." Enrique sighs.

We get up to the window and Juan Diego requests another happy meal.

"Girls or boys?" The woman asks.

Danté thinks for a moment. "Do you have a neutral option?"

We laugh, even Juan Diego.

"Umm... no, sir. We don't." The woman replies.

"Oh, come now, Danté, cut him some slack! Juan Diego cannot help who he is." Morticia says. "Now, get him a girl's."

The bus is howling with laughter.

Juan Diego speaks, in mock offense. "And to think, I helped _save_ your ass!"

Morticia rolls her eyes. "Oh, you love me."

A passionate fire burns in my eyes as I suck her neck. "Not as much as I do."

Danté sighs. "A compromise, then." He leans his head out of the window, and the sky, I notice, is overcast.

Wonderful, it will soon rain and Morticia will be able to enjoy it.

"Both." Danté decides.

"Yes, sir." The woman continues. "Will that be all?"

Danté nearly finishes the large order, as we all get everything we can to fill us up.

I look at Tish. "What would you like, darling?"

"Well, it appears you've already been here." She pauses. "What's edible?"

I already know the answer to that. "On the menu or in my arms? There's a difference between edible and delicious."

 _"Gomez."_ She rests her head on my shoulder.

"She'll have a number four and three ice waters, Danté!" I call to him.

Morticia looks up at me. _"Three?"_

"Tish, you have to drink. You've only had water four times since they took you from me." I explain.

My gothic temptress nods and sits up a bit. "Alright, I won't put up a fight..." She smiles, seductively. "Not until later."

I give a low growl and soon after Danté orders, our bus pulls up the window.

The employee's eyes bulge out of her head. "Umm... here are your meals, sir."

Danté nods a _thank you_ and hands her our grand total of $36.60. Damn. Who ever thought we would spend that much at a _McDonald's_?

We drive off and Morticia's food is handed to me. I set my bag down next to her legs and pop a French fry in her mouth.

She seems surprised. "Oh my God."

I nod. "I know, they're actually kind good. Who would have thought?"

"So, edible or delicious?" She asks.

"Hmm?" I was too enthralled with her beauty to pay full attention.

"Me. After what happened, honestly I am worried I won't recognize myself."

My god. Never have I before seen Morticia like this. She has always been modest in how she views herself but oozed confidence, down to the way she walked. The sway of her hips... I have to tell her the truth. She has nothing at all to worry about, she is just as beautiful as she was. "Morticia," I take her hands. "You are just as enchanting as you were before all of this happened. Sure, you lost a bit of weight but what can one expect, after what you have been subjected to? Tish, you still have your gorgeous figure, and you've become even stronger because of this. I see it in those beautiful black eyes of yours. I will always find you the most alluring creature on the face of this earth, and I hope you know just how very attractive you are. You must, for all the parties I get jealous at."

A tear runs down her cheek. "How do you always know what to say to me?"

"Two things: I love you, and I am an honest man." I tell her. "I would never lie to you."

"Nor I, to you. And I must say, you look incredibly handsome in that combat attire of yours." She takes a sip of water.

"And who do you think I did that for, hmm?" I ask.

"Well, I have a guess." She gives me her palm and I kiss it.

And, I cannot thank everything enough that she is here right now.

We drive on into the night, and two days later... we arrive on Candletop Hill.

(Morticia's P.O.V.)

I awaken to Gomez, gazing at me and then back out the window.

Hernus is in my arms, purring softly as I stroke him.

The bus pulls up to our estate, and I am filled with anxious excitement, as soon, I'll get to see my dear Wednesday and Pugsley again. And my mother, and... it's all so much, so fast.

Everyone but Gomez and I step out of the vehicle, and we are last.

Gomez stands, slips his shirt-jacket on and helps me to my feet. "Are you steady on your feet, querida?" He asks.

I nod. "As much as I can be." I pick up Hernus and Gomez leads me to the front door of our lovely home. And to my surprise, that awful George Womack's house is no longer there.

I eye Gomez, questioningly and gesture to the empty spot where George's house used to be.

He laughs. "I had that taken care of. I told them George said he was moving to Hawaii, and that he simply asked that I have his house demolished with the insurance money sent to his family home. Ironically, they did not even know that a George Womack lived here or even existed. So, once I offered them a reasonable amount of forty million dollars cash, they had that house demolished so quickly that one would not know if it was even there in the first place." He explains.

"You devil."

He kisses me. "Yours forever."

Enrique rings the doorbell and within a minute, Lurch opens it.

Lurch's eyes search the hoard of people for me, and I see a sweet tear of joy run down his cheek. "Mrs. Addams!" He cries.

"Yes, Lurch, it's me." I say, happily.

"Mother!" I hear the children call.

I do not care about my stoic nature right now, I hand Hernus off to Gomez and run into the house.

Lurch scoops me up and hugs me. He sets me down and Thing squeezes my shoulder.

I smile at him. Then, I break down in joyous tears. My little Wednesday and Pugsley are running right at me, faster than I have ever seen them run.

They nearly knock me over but I bend down and embrace them.

"Mother! Mother, you're home!" Pugsley yells and squeezes the breath right out of me.

"We've missed you." My dear, monotone Wednesday says.

"I've missed you, too!" I cry.

After the hug is over, I look at them both. "Mother's alright. And so is your father, we're all alright." I pause, catching my breath. "You two little devils misbehaved for your grandmother, correct?"

Wednesday seems shocked, having never really seen me show such emotion. Never, do I try to cry or cause a distressing scene in front of them, but all those rules fly out the window in this moment.

"Yes, mother." She nods.

I kiss her forehead. "Were Hailie and Josh good to you?"

"No." Pugsley shakes his head.

"Good." I say and kiss his cheek.

The children run to Gomez, who scoops them up in a loving embrace just as Josh and Hailie run into the room.

"I heard the queen was home!" Josh throws his arms up.

"Josh!" I cry and run to him.

He scoops me up in a tight embrace. "You're wearing white."

I roll my eyes. "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

Hailie playfully pushes Josh out of the way and grabs me.

Her style is very steampunk, with her vibrant red hair, and short, brown steampunk-inspired dress. She is my opposite, in the sense that she is outgoing and loud and... a good roommate for Josh, now that I think about it.

"God, I missed you!" Hailie's tears run down my shoulder.

"Missed me enough to get drunk?" I ask, smelling the booze on her breath.

"Every god blessed night!"

Josh and Halie both squeeze the life out of me. "Thank you for taking care of my children." I manage to say.

"They're insane, Morticia." Hailie chuckles.

"Yea, wonder where they get _that_ from." Josh remarks.

Máma pushes them both out of the way and chokes me with her hug.

I fight for breath but remain calm. I know she was worried sick.

"Morticia, thank the heavens!" She cries.

I smile. "I've missed you, Máma!"

Máma, not one to be sentimental, breaks the hug and looks at me. "Morticia, you look awful in white."

I laugh. "Thanks, Máma, isn't that a sweet _welcome home_?" I ask, sarcastically.

Gomez hugs me from behind, Hernus standing next to us. He kisses my neck. "I think you look enchanting, cara mia, as always."

Esmeralda rolls her eyes. "Gomez!" She awkwardly tries to hug him while he is tightly wrapped around me, so we end up making some sort of train-formation with Máma.

She gives up after a minute and claps her hands.

Everyone turns to her. "Alright, anyone hurt or injured, I'm playing nurse!"

The crew practically pushes Danté over to my mother.

Esmeralda notices the severe wound in his leg. "A quick spell and some medical tools should suffice. We'll give ya some potion to be on the safe side, though." She pinches his cheek and examines his wound. "Damn, whoever treated you may have worsened your condition. Who knows? If you waited a day longer, I might have had to amputate."

The crew, and I, turn to a sheepish Gomez.

"Ha! Well, sorry, old man! Hey, you heard her! She can save the leg!" Gomez is handed a cigar by e efficient Lurch, and smokes.

I notice Wednesday and Pugsley taking an immediate interest in Hernus.

"Mother, it's a black cat." Wednesday points out.

"Bad luck." Pugsley remembers.

I nod. "I know, isn't he wonderful? His name is Hernus, he's the newest addition to the family."

"A new kitty!" Pugsley claps his hands. "Can we play with him?"

Hernus' eyes grow wide.

"No, no, children. Not like that. He has been through enough."

Wednesday ponders this. "Well, if _he_ can't be burried alive... can he help me burry _Pugsley_ alive?"

Hernus seems to relax a bit.

I nod. "Yes, that he can do."

The children squeal and run off with Hernus to play with him.

Máma and Acid help Danté walk.

"Now, what would you like for dinner, Mor-"

Gomez grabs me and picks me up, bridal style. He looks into my eyes, with that adoring gaze I cannot live without, and begins to walk away with me.

"Ticia." Máma finishes, awkwardly.

I do not even hear her. He carries me all the way up our flights of stairs.

"Tish..." He smiles at me, and I hold onto him, tightly. "All I wanted the night you went missing was to get you into a nice, hot shower... and get in there with you."

"And?" I raise an eyebrow.

"That is exactly what I intend to do." He gives a feral, animalistic growl and captures my lips for an intensely passionate kiss.

Gomez carries me up to our bedroom, and into our large, private bathroom.

Then, and only then, does he set me down.

I appreciate this bathroom more than I ever did. It's beautiful, and clean, and has a lock on the door so I can have privacy.

Privacy for Gomez and I is all I need right now, his hands on me, and privacy. I've been without his touch for far too long, and I am going to make damn sure that lost time is made up for, now.

"Tish..." He locks the door. "Cara mia, I have missed you."

Thankfully, my period ended yesterday and I can actually look good for this. I was able to take real shower when we had to stop at a hotel for a few hours last night when the bus broke down. So, I was able to get everything I needed to take care of. Gomez wouldn't care either way, but I care about looking my best, and feeling my best, especially for him. He is the same way with me.

I slip off my panties. "I know."

Gomez removes his shirt and pants, including his underwear.

And the hideous hospital gown that I want to burn in a fire, is the last to be discarded. Our close are in a pile together on the floor, and I have a feeling Enrique is going to have Gomez keep everything that was borrowed.

He turns the shower on and we step into it.

It is large, and separate from our jacuzzi-tub, which is adjacent to it. All that separates us from the rest of the bathroom is a waterproof wall and black and white tile floor and glass shower-doors. For what we get up to in here, we need a sturdy floor and a wall that isn't very slippery. I do not even know the full extent of how much we paid for it, we had it specially made.

I let the hot water run down my back, and warm me up. Never have I been so grateful for hot water.

He gently takes a small black, cloth, sudsy from the soap, from off the shelf. He takes a deep breath in. "Why couldn't I have gotten to do this sooner?" He asks as he gently, slowly washes me wish the cloth. He treats me like a fragile piece of glass most of the time, until everything becomes so intense that we go hard, all the way.

"Was it worth the wait?" I inquire as he gets to my back.

He kisses my shoulder. "It always is. But if you ever make me wait this long on purpose, I will die."

"I'd never to that to you." I say as he runs the cloth over the front of my body.

Soon, he is done and he runs his fingers through my hair as I rinse off in his arms.

I turn and face Gomez, who's eyes are burning with passion. He Frenches me, and pulls me close to him. He whispers the terms of endearment I have adored since the beginning, into my ear as he lets his hands and lips roam all over my wet, wanting body.

Gomez makes his way up to my lips again, and pins me against the wall, my arms above my head.

I gasp, taken by surprise, but the kind of surprise that makes me desire more. He fists my hair in his hand and bites my lip.

I groan and he continues until finally, I bleed. He grips my waist and props me up, lifting my legs up over his shoulders.

No real torture today, we have waited too long and waiting longer is more suffering than either one of us can take.

His arms are securing my legs, and trembling, I close my eyes and allow him to do what he does best... make me weak. And since I'm already weak, he is making me weaker.

I moan, trying to grip the wall but instead pressing my hand against it. I can feel my heart begin to race, and my pulse quicken as he buries his head in me.

The sound of the water pouring from the showerhead above does not at all mask the sounds of pleasure escaping my throat.

Minutes of the wonderful kind of agony that I have missed so much go by, and I feel water drip from my face as I scream his name, brought so far to the edge of the world that it might as well be flat, because I have just fallen off.

Gomez is there to pick me back up again, and he sets me down and makes out with me, under the water for what feels like seconds but in reality, is mere minutes.

Both desperate for more, we exit the shower and Gomez wraps me in the black, soft towel with my initials engraved in it. He dries me off, and kisses me all over, and dries himself.

Not waiting until our hair is fully dry or even our bodies, and not caring to wait, we walk over to the bed.

Gomez lies me down and locks the bedroom door, not wanting to risk anyone walking in on our great love affair.

He pounces on the bed, a desperate, deranged, sensual demon, preying on me. And I am a very, willing victim. He climbs on top of me and the silk satin sheets feel magnificent against my bruised, winded body.

I let out a sensual, light sigh and grab him, lust taking over me. My stiletto nails claw at his back, digging into him.

He hisses, loving it and I do it again. He may be bleeding now, and I open my legs fully, needing him inside of me. We are to starved for one another to deny it any longer.

He entangles his tongue one last time with mine, and enters me. He thrusts and I orgasm for the second time today.

After another two hours of making up for lost time, it is time for dinner.

Dinner was marvelous, and we had a surprise meal of all my favorite foods. Roast boar's leg, newts' eyes and Máma's specialité de la maison, as I call it. To top it all off, there was red wine.

We toasted to friends, to love, to passion, to power, to strength, and to family. We cheered and danced and had a record player on, because we invited Lurch to party with us all.

The night was filled with music and laughter and love, and darkness. Oh, sweet, beautiful darkness. Wednesday and Hernus tried to kill Pugsley, and Máma nearly almost poisoned everyone by mixing certain types of seasoning. It was wonderful.

I lie in bed, Gomez holding me, tightly in his arms. My head rests on his chest as we watch and listen to the torrential downpour outside. We have a game we like to play... well, it isn't really a game, it's an excuse to touch each other. No, it is _not_ strip poker. Not this time.

He kisses me each time lighting flashes across the sky, and we try to beat records. Last time, we counted sixteen flashes. There was more, but we lost count. Now, we have counted eleven so far.

There has been silence for a while, amidst whispered words of love as we watch the storm together. But the silence is broken by Gomez. "Carita?"

"Yes, mon amour?" I turn back to him.

"I'm taking you to Paris." He says, casually.

I am exploding on the inside! _Paris? Paris?_ Es cargot and the catacombs, and the Eifel Tower, not to mention, the cemetery!

I am completely caught off guard. I love when he does that. He is the only one who can ever render me speechless.

"You mean it?" I ask him.

He kisses my hand, eyes getting even larger. "Of course, my darling. Third honeymoon." He pauses. "Have I ever lied to you?"

I shake my head. "No, you haven't." I sit up and embrace him, my arms wrapped around his neck. "Thank you, darling!" I exclaim. "When do we leave?"

Gomez smiles at me. "We leave in one week." He says.

I hate the expression, _too good to be true_. Nothing is too good to be true. Life must be pretty damn awful if everything is too good to be true. And this is certainly not untrue, or too good to be true. It is wonderful.

"Je t'aime, mon amour."

He seals my lips in a kiss just as another flash of lighting occurs, and holds me in his arms, close as possible.

He rubs my back as I drift off.

Before I forget, I speak. "We're going to have Lurch burn that hospital gown."

Gomez takes a puff of the cigar he has just started to smoke, and his lips curl into that devilishly handsome smile. "Anything you want." He replies and kisses me, just before my eyes close.


	18. Carol of the Hells

Chapter 16: Carol of the Hells

 _The beauty of the snow is easy to witness. To ponder, is not at all a simple task. Pondering the beauty of the white, crystalline substance that falls to the ground every December, while not easy, is indeed amusing._

 _For example, the snow may be mysteriously beautiful, but it masks many a disaster. Car accidents, suicides. Oh yes, the death behind the snow is more real than the snow itself. Why else would once be able to make angels or demons out of it, with just a wave of the arms? Why else would the snow cover the graves every winter? It is desperately trying to cover its own mistakes. Or triumphs, depending on how one views life._

 _Indeed, the entire human race could sit for at the very least, an entire hour and ponder how truly beautiful the thick, white blanket is. One could stare for so long that their thoughts wander to life, and to death... and my, how does death sound right now? Do you see? The beauty of the snow is temptation. Temptation to live a life, give a life, or take a life._

 _That is how the snow represents our lives, each of our lives. The way we see the snow does play a part in the way we see our life. Does the snow have a reason to fall, and do we have a reason to live?_

 _I believe that there is always a reason to live. For me, it is my husband. My darling amour, without him, I am nothing._

 _But for you, my dear reader, the snow will tell._

 _~The Beauty of the Snow_

 _Morticia Addams_

 _December 25th, 199_ 2

(Gomez's P.O.V.)

Eight months, it has been.

Tish is back to her healthy, curvaceous, one-hundred-thirty-five-pound figure. She is beautiful, and stronger than ever. The children are obsessed with Hernus, and Hernus is obsessed with Kitty. The two have actually become quite good friends. Fester is back and enjoying being home with the family he has missed, and Tish and I would not have it any other way.

We are inviting the crew over, even Regina, as we have made amends, as well as Cousin Itt and his new wife, Margaret. Yes, I found out that Tully was the one who informed George about Iridis and two days later, he vanished without a trace. Mysterious, is it not?

Morticia was the one who got me into decorating the house for the holidays. I always loved Halloween, as does she. It is our favourite holiday. However, I never did decorate for Christmas until Morticia came into my life. Her decorations are Christmas-oriented with a gothic twist, and I adore it.

Our wreath, it is black with a white skull on it, and some holly berries. Morticia made it when we were nineteen. Eleven years ago now. At thirty years old, my Tish grows more enchanting with each passing day.

We have strung black, red and white garland throughout the estate, and have black, snowflake decorations with a crystalline blue tint, hanging from our ceiling. I had a black, velvet santa hat for Morticia made, and she has worn it since I gave it to her last week.

I sit her on my shoulder, and she finishes decorating are large, evergreen tree.

"Gomez, hand me the crystal skull ornament. It's the last one." Tish instructs me.

Her outfit is gorgeous. It is a long, extending down past her ankles and tight. It is a black, gothic dress that is even lower cut than usual. It accentuates her beautiful body magnificently. It has long sleeves, and is of a deep, dark black shade. The sleeves have black diamonds at the wrists. She wears a corset on the outer part of the dress, as they are connected. The corset is the same shade as her dress, with gothic, deep crimson coloured designs on it. The dress has a slit in it up to her lower thigh, and that ensemble paired with her three-and-a-half inch heels and the black tights, and her makeup, and those blood red nails... not to mention, her skin is as pale as the piling snow on the hill.

I turn my head and kiss her finger, where her wedding ring is. "Oh, I can't seem to find it." I say. "Perhaps I could check somewhere _less obvious._ " I grab her rear.

Tish gasps. " _Somebody's_ been naughty this year." She remarks as I hand her the ornament.

"Oh, yes, and nothing anybody says can make me nice." I reply.

Morticia hangs the ornament on the tree. "Indeed? Even if somebody says you'll be punished later?"

"We both know that will only make me naughtier." I hand her our black star that we put on the tree every year.

My black goddess places it, neatly on the tree and I set her down in front of me, gripping her waist.

Morticia has a sensual smirk on her face. "Well, think about it... three hundred and sixty-four days of hell-razing and love-making in exchange for one day of coal? I think it's a fair trade, don't you?"

"A fair trade indeed." I kiss her, pressing against her.

"I'm guessing we're on the naughty list this year?" Morticia inquires, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I suck on her porcelain neck, leaving a hickey for her. "Yes. And even though you've been a very bad girl, I'm going to shower you in presents."

"Mmm... well, I guess I should keep being a bad girl, then." She responds.

I am not through with that beautiful neck of hers quite yet. "I guess you should."

I watch the children bid goodbye to Hernus and race upstairs.

"Mother, father, the Jehovah's are here!" Pugsley calls as he runs. "They're gonna sing Christmas carols soon!"

I give a _thumbs up_ to let him know I have heard him.

I give Tish a kiss on her lips and then, I speak. "Carolers, amore de mi vida?" I question.

"Yes, and this time it's the Jehovah's. The... _fun_ ones." Tish walks over to our hallway mirror, takes off her hat and pushes her hair to the side, observing the mark I have left on her. "Gomez, I believe you left me a little _present_."

"Merry Christmas!" I laugh.

She rolls her eyes and gives a laugh of her own. And that, even her laugh drives me wild with desire.

Morticia puts on her new black cloak that I bought for her shortly after her homecoming.

She slips her arm through mine and I kiss her cheek. "Did Máma make her potion?" I inquire as I put on my black trench coat.

My angel of darkness nods. "Yes, and I have a feeling we're all going up to the roof, so we can teach them how the Addams' do Christmas."

We walk, arm in arm up to the roof and sure enough, there my dear family is. They are all in their winter gear, and Máma has a bubbling pot of green potion, ready for the carolers.

I take Morticia to get a better view, and we stand in front of the rest of the family, besides Máma with her cauldron. Morticia looks down at the Jehovah's, facing our front door and not suspecting a thing.

My darling looks up at me. "Merry Christmas, mon amour."

"Merry Christmas, my black angel." I kiss her hand.

We then watch as Máma dumps the contents of the pot all over the carolers, and they run for the hills.

"Damn you, Addams!" One of them yells.

"Go to hell!" Another shouts.

Damn. So much for doing everything in the name of their lord and savior.

"Thank you, but I've already been there!" Morticia calls back, kindly.

"Let me guess, _witch_! _You're Satan?_ " The last remaining witness calls up to her.

She sighs, looks at me briefly, and looks back down at her. "No, dear! I'm the one Satan wrote in essay about in the third grade when the theme that month was _our idols_! But good guess!"

I eye my querida, seductively. She always knows just what to say to make rude people shit their pants. It's a wonderful trait.

We disperse, and Fester, Tish and I are the only ones left on the roof.

"It's wonderful to have you back, Fester." I give his hand a shake.

"It's wonderful to be back." He flips me.

I laugh and Tish helps me to my feet.

We walk into the house and soon, we are watching the entire family run out of the back door to the cemetery.

The children are trying to spot Santa, so they can try to shoot his sled with the new hunting rifle I bought them. Yes, I indulge the fantasy. _Kids,_ what can I say?

Tish's cloak is still on as we stand in the doorway, but her hood is off, and she looks breathtaking like that... straight out of a painting.

The clock strikes ten and I look up, to see that mistletoe is right above us.

"Cara mia..." I look out at my dear family, and then at her. I take her hands. "You're back."

"I've been back for eight months." She reminds me, laughing.

"No, I know. But it feels like a day. Mi corazón, what more could I possibly ask?"

Tish pauses. "Pardon, mon cher." She walks inside and grabs a black and white, knitted baby-onesie with three legs and a spider design on the chest. She holds it up, and stares at me, waiting.

I am in disbelief. Could it be? " _Cara mia..._ is it true?" I ask.

Morticia nods. "Qui, mon amour."

I feel that she planned to tell me under the mistletoe. I grab her, gently, and kiss her, full of intense passion. I carefully bend Tish back, and practically devour the living hell out of her.

After two kids, we are going to have another. And what perfect timing? Morticia is more ready than ever for another child, as am I. After this ordeal, we know we can conquer anything that this beautifully cruel world has to throw at us. I know I can handle anything, as long as Tish is with me. And no, I am never letting her go.


	19. A Note from Gomez and Morticia

A Note from Gomez and Morticia

Morticia:

It is wonderful to be back with my family, and in the arms of my husband.

 _Iridis_ is behind me, and with the baby due any minute now, I am focusing my attention on that. Gomez says he has arranged a surprise for me, but he refuses to tell me what it is until the baby arrives.

We decided not to find out the sex, until the baby is born, of course. And I couldn't be unhappier. Gomez and I are the same way, and I swear we grow more attracted to one another with each passing second.

Shortly after my homecoming, Josh and Hailie realized how compatible they were and set up an interesting arrangement. Hailie and Vanessa are now living with Josh, as his house is quite large. I get to see them much more, and every Saturday, they come over with champagne and force me to watch _Designing Women_ , and then I turn on a horrour movie for us.

It did not take too long to find Emily, and she now is doing quite well for herself. We were able to find her, Mary and Ash jobs at major business corporations, and they are slowly but surely climbing to the top.

Emily is going to college to be a kindergarten teacher, and wrote a paper about me for one of her assignments, which she presented to class. She has also moved in with Ash, about an hour away from Candletop Hill.

Evil is getting on famously, and has gotten a job as a phycologist. She is doing well for herself and living in an apartment in Arizona.

Ah yes, and Máma moved in in late April, of last year. It was wonderful, having her around the children. We also realized that she must be incredibly lonely in that old house alone, so we invited her to come live with us. She eagerly accepted.

All in all, I am indeed the storm. While I didn't burn, they did, and I certainly came out, sitting on Hell's throne.

Gomez:

I'm holding my querida in my arms as I write, and by God, do I adore her. She is the air I breath, and for the rest of my life, I am willingly on oxygen.

Every morning, I talk to the little life inside of my darling's belly. And I have a gut feeling it is a boy. From the way it kicks, to the way it craves Amazonian pickles. I still do not understand that part.

I worship her, I would do anything for her. At her request, I would rip out my eyes, at her command, I would crawl on my belly through hot coals and broken glass.

And, I-

Morticia would like to say something.

Us:

Gomez?

Yes, my dearest?

Marvelous news. I'm going to have the baby... right now.

Now?

Yes, now.

Now? You're in labour _now_?

Darling, I think we had better hurry. My water broke.

 _As we write?_ Right now?

Yes, Gomez.

Oh. Alright... Alright, how should we end this, I

...

Morticia:

I am so sorry for the unfinished sentence. Gomez and I had to begin our drive to the hospital. I am in labour as I write.

We are Addams'. I am an Addams and as such I have put this ordeal behind me. I finally destroyed Dr. Winthrop and Gomez and I have finally brought down that-

...

Morticia:

I apologize, a police officer pulled us over. I believe we have said all we need to, but you must excuse us as now is a bit of an inconvenient time to write.

Gomez, darling? Is there anything left you'd like to say?

Us:

Just that I adore you, Tish. And when I promised you, that for you I would kill... I meant every word.

Darling... I am in _so_ much pain.

Is it inhuman? My darling, _is it torture_?

 _Qui..._

...

Morticia:

Oh, yes. We were, sidetracked. One last thing. Yes, Gomez and I do still have dreams together... about the night before.


End file.
